Dead Promises
by Yvearia
Summary: Forty years after the fae war, Eric is left without Sookie, Fangtasia or his status as Area 5 Sheriff. Forcing himself to forget Sookie, he considers himself whole again untill he discoves Devonee, an intuitive link to his past.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Sorry it's taking me so long to update. My Great Gandamother passed on Wednesday. She would have been 91 in August and she was the most amazing lady you'd ever meet :) I want to start writing again to get my mind off of things. I have about half a chapter waiting to be finished, but now just isn't the time. Hopefully by next week you'll have more.

*********

I paced back and forth beneath the trees, staring up through the leaves toward the moon. As the wind died down I glanced to my left, across the rows of graves. My gaze settled on the warm little farmhouse sitting lonely on the edge of the cemetery.

It had been years since I had entered that house. Forty years. It was now part of the historical park that encompassed the antebellum cemetery and the second house across from it just up Hummingbird Road. The more historical of the two houses was the Compton House and Historical Museum. The Compton family, leaving no living (or otherwise) heirs, had Finally Died some twenty-two years ago. The last owner of the home had kept it in immaculate conditions and it was one of the last surviving antebellum homes in the greater part of Louisiana. It's doors remained open from 8 AM to 4AM daily to allow for the light challenged individuals of the community to come learn about the War of Northern Aggression (at least, those of us who hadn't lived through it, that is). The Stackhouse Family Home, while certainly a place of note around the community, was less used as a museum and more so a home for the Compton caretaker and Historian. Though every now and then people would stop by, wanting a glimpse of where the famed telepath had made her home.

I ran my fingers back through my hair and along my jaw, resting my hand over my mouth. I was hungry and weary, but I would share her first meal with her. It had been decades since I had made a child, and while it was now a common practice among the upper class to avoid death, cure disease and secure their social status for untold years through conversion, as they now referred to it, I was old fashioned. I would not turn a human for any amount of monetary compensation. It was circumstance and nostalgia and greed that took hold of me the night I made her. I saw in her a stoicism and spark I had not seen in a human in nearly forty years. And I had to have more of her.

I turned back to the fresh grave with anticipation. I crouched near her head and felt the soft, damp earth beneath my fingertips. I was swept up in a wave of memory and emotion.

***

I was standing outside a bar on Sixth Street called La Zonna Rosa. It was 4AM, Pam should have been here moments ago. Once a popular music venue in Austin, The Zone, as they now called it, was on the outs. I had been spending the last decade running a company that helped venues revive themselves for the public, with a certain vampire flair. The 'fangbanger' phase had gone out of style as the world began accepting and integrating vampires into human society. And while tourists weren't as easily catered to as they had been in the past, there was still a market for those who wished to live on the other side of the fence. Pam and I were now making a temporary home in the Texas hill country and marketing ourselves to several businesses gone bust. Now she was fifteen minutes late.

I had been well fed in the few weeks we had been here, and the scent of fresh blood was easily dismissed. It was the accompanying sobs and expletives that lured me across the sixth street to the steps of a coffee bar, now closed for the night. Huddled against the door was a puddle of matted brown hair and a tangle of legs in a long, dull orange skirt. Underneath the hair sat a child of nineteen, maybe twenty years, cradling a bloody hand to her body. She was barefoot, with tiny hindi tattoos scattered across the tops of her feet. She was very thin, very pale and she was shaking. I stood there, taking her in, mesmerized by her helplessness.

"Fucking Christ! Goddamnit! Asshole!" she was screaming at the door behind her. "How can anyone be so completely fucking devoid of emotion, you cunt?! Fuckstick!"

I could feel the fear radiating off of her as I stepped closer to the storefront. She was trying to project bravado, and she was turning the heads of passersby in the process, but none were coming to her aid. She went quiet and winced as she pulled a long sliver of glass out of her bloodied hand. I noticed the broken bottle sitting on the cement next to her. She still hadn't looked up at me, but I knew she was aware.

"Ahem," I cleared my throat in a human gesture meant to make humans more comfortable.

"Vampire," she proclaimed in a mild tone. "You smell like one."

That was certainly not the response I was expecting.

"But a business-y one. You don't kill much, do you? You're not from around here, either. Well, most vamps aren't from around wherever they end up, but I mean, you've spent most of the last, oh I'd say, hundred years or so east of here. And you're waiting on a pretty girl." With that she lifted her chin and met my eyes. Hers were bright gold in color.

"I'm quite impressed. Now guess my age, name and business and I will consider it more than a parlor trick," but I _was_ impressed, though my tone suggested otherwise.

"There haven't been parlors to do tricks in since the early part of last century, Mr. N. And I'd say your age is around 800 or so."

"You flatter. But you haven't got my full name and you're a bit short on the age, my dear." I smirked in spite of myself. "Years ago, if someone had appeared out of nowhere, knowing what you know about me, I'd have counted them a well educated enemy." I growled softly. "I have no enemies any longer. I destroyed them all. What are you?"

"I'm a girl who's cut her hand trying to knock some sense into a scumbag," she spat out the last word in disgust. I let my eyes wonder the area around the sprawled child and discovered a large silver colored duffle bag and a small grey purse tossed aside. I reached for the bag with one hand and lifted her to he feet by her uninjured arm with the other.

"You'll be the pretty girl I was waiting for this evening."

Her eyes widened and I could sense the fear tamp up again. She stiffened as she stood in front of me.

"I didn't think vamps kidnapped victims anymore," her tone was even but there was an edge to her voice. I wondered why she wasn't running if she was so frightened. They used to run. I remembered that. They screamed too.

"You should get that cleaned up. And my date has stood me up I suppose. Can I carry your bags anywhere for you? It's late." I didn't know why, but I was determined to learn more about this one before I let her escape my sight.

"You're not _hungry_?" she asked with a smirk, and I felt her relax a bit. I stood there, staring blankly at her. I was hungry for more than blood from this one. She was intriguing me.

"Well, I am," she looked down at her feet and then up the street. "Do you have a car?"

***

I sat her bag in my trunk and slid into the drivers seat, reaching across to open her door from the inside. She looked in nervously.

"This is an old car," she sighed.

"It is a very good, very expensive old car," I said defensively as I rubbed the leather of the passenger's seat. I motioned for her to get in.

"I'll get blood everywhere," and she waved her injured palm in front of her. I gingerly grasped her wrist and pulled her into my Astin Martin.

"No worries, I will take care of everything."

She slowly closed the door behind her. Her emotions were a rollercoaster of fear, relief, anxiety and curiosity.

I took her bloody hand in mine and raised it to my mouth, but hesitated there to wait for her reaction. She stared straight into my eyes, and did not breath.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to clean your wound and heal it. It's not bleeding anymore anyway." She relaxed a bit and leaned her back against her door so that she was facing me. I lifted her palm to my mouth and began to clean the blood from her wrist and fingertips. When her taste hit the back of my throat, my mind screamed in realization. Fairy. I kept my eyes lowered and my tongue busy. It was faint. Much more faint than Sookie's blood had been. After all, the fae had been gone from this plain for four decades, enough time to seriously dilute the blood of any fae offspring. Did she know what secrets her blood held? I licked until I realized her hand had been clean for some time. As I cut my thumb on a fang, I heard her giggle.

"Can't you glamour me? I mean, you've asked, been very polite, but you haven't made me do any of this. Can't you do that?"

I began running my bloodied thumb along her palm where the glass had sunk deep in the flesh. When she began to heal, I pulled a tissue out of the glove compartment and wiped her hand clean once more.

I turned in my seat and started the engine. As I was pulling out of the tiny parking lot at the end of the street, my phone rang. I pressed the button on my headset on the second ring.

"Pamela, you were late… You should find somewhere else to sleep for the day. I'm heading home now. We must talk but… Later, Pam. Hurry and be safe, it is almost light."

"Whoa. You're not taking me to your place, are you? You can drop me off at a coffee shop on the drag. It's 24 hrs. It's safe." She crossed her arms in a show of stubbornness, and stared out the window.

"My name is Eric, and I am afraid I won't be going home by way of… 'the drag', I believe you called it? Guadalupe Street, yes?"

"Yes," she affirmed softly as she turned to look at me again. I could see my stupid grin reflected in her golden irises. That wouldn't do. I ran my hand across my mouth and quite literally wiped the smile off of my face.

"Would you like me to glamour you?" I asked, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. I glanced at her again, expecting to see shock, where I only saw a tired smile.

"I don't think you'll have to. I have a habit of falling asleep in moving cars. It's like being rocked to sleep. I've just been so tired lately. Haven't been getting the really good kind of sleep, you know? I've been walking for, well days, I guess. I've been getting showers here and there. Got a couple of friendlies at tattoo shops and dinners, so I can keep clean and keep fed, but it's been hard you know?" she drifted off into silence for a moment. "I need to figure things out, and fast." She leaned her head up against the passenger window and fell fast asleep.

***

She had been in the ground for three nights and now it was time for her to rise. I crouched near her head, a six pack of blood close at hand. I would be there, to comfort, to explain and to be held accountable for what I had done. She would, no doubt, want to be left alone to grieve. The least I could do would be to take her to my home and be there to comfort her in private and safety.

I felt her scream before I heard it and I sent my hand down into the fresh grave to help her out before her panic consumed her.

"It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream," she sobbed into my chest as she placed both of her arms around my waist. "No. She was real. It wasn't a dream, Eric. How could you?" _You should have let me die with her!_ She would not say it, but I felt it to my very core. Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs as I lifted her in my arms and carried her back to my car. I sat her in the passengers seat and opened a bottle of blood. I kneeled down by the door and held it out to her. Her sobbing evened out and her red, tearstained cheeks began to dry.

"I don't want it," she whispered softly.

"I'm taking you home," I handed her the bottle anyway, and made my way around to my seat. We headed off to Shreveport in silence. Along the way I noticed her drink the first bottle and start on a second. She was drinking very slowly and was almost finished with her second bottle by the time we pulled into my driveway.

Although I knew how independent she insisted on being, I also knew she was in no kind of mental state to deal with this on her own. I walked around the car, opened her door and lifted her from her seat. I carried her into the house and back to the bathroom. I had prepared clean clothes, towels and candles to be lit the night before. I began running hot water into the tub. I glanced over my shoulder where she half sat, half sprawled on the floor against the vanity, shifting her bottle of blood from one hand to the other.

Once the water was steadily running and the candles had been lit, I turned to undress her. I gently removed the bottle from her hands and lifted her arms above her head as I pulled her dress off of her. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her panties were next and then her jewelry. I sat her rings on the counter and left her clothes in a muddy heap on the floor. I picked her up and gently placed her in the tub. I handed her bottle of blood back to her and sat back on my haunches. I watched her sit and sip and cry tears of blood. And I ached for her loss.

After several moments of silence she asked my to help her get clean. I washed her hair and massaged her back, but left the rest to her. I didn't want her to feel used or objectified, only safe. When she was clean I lifted her out of the bath and drained it. I toweled her dry and dressed her in her soft grey cotton slip. Her hair was already beginning to dry in unruly waves. I pulled her to me and held her close.

We left the bathroom and headed for her bedroom, a small room next to mine. It wasn't light tight so she would have to share my room for now.

"How much time?"

"Dawn is in six hours, but you will need to rest in four or five." I sat next to her on the floor, our backs against her bed. "Do you have questions for me? Anything you wish to know?" Her golden eyes, still rimed with her bloody tears, stared straight to the heart of me.

"Do you love me?"

***

She was still sleeping when I pulled into the gated community at the edge of the river. I could hear her breathing softly, her breath making small clouds against the window. I had about forty-five minutes to situate her and take care of a few personal things before dawn.

I made my way around to the trunk and took her bag up the steps and set it just inside the door. On my way back the sprinklers kicked on soaking the bottom of my jeans. I reached her door and opened it slowly. She fell into my arms and stirred restlessly before quieting back into sleep. How could she be so trusting? Perhaps I was old fashioned, but a modicum of fear was what I expected from humans.

The house that Pam had secured for us was comparatively modest next to those surrounding us. It was off the banks of the Colorado River in a gated community that offered vampire security measures to its residents. It was an open concept, split level home with light safe glass in all rooms and an additional light tight, fireproof room set above the garage. It had a substantial kitchen by vampire standards. Three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms and a great room encompassed the lower level. The master bed, bath and den occupied the upper level. The front and sides of the home had a few strategically placed widows, but the back of the house, facing the river, was nearly an entire wall of light safe glass. Floor to ceiling, upstairs and down.

I walked through the double doors and past the stairway to my living area, and deposited the girl on the couch in the great room. I grabbed a blanket from the arm of the sofa and draped it over her. I noticed that she was bordering on being filthy.

My phone buzzed on my way to the kitchen. It was a text message from Pam.

_Master, I apologize for my tardiness. There was some latent business in Shreveport I had to attend to. Nothing that cannot wait to be discussed. Please enjoy your evening. A meal, perhaps? I will be sheltering downtown. _

I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a blood. As I waited for it to heat in the microwave, I took pen and paper from a drawer and began a message to… I hadn't even gotten her name.

_Please take a shower. _

_If you wish, you may stay in residence through the day. I have little business to attend to tomorrow evening and would be pleased if you would join me for dinner._

_It would be unwise of you to explore. _

_Rest and I will take care of everything else in the evening._

_-E_

I glanced at the couch where I had left her. She had curled herself into a small bundle of hair, filthy clothing and the blanket I had covered her with. I left the note on the kitchen counter. And proceeded upstairs for the day.

***

I woke early. The last rays of sunlight were sinking beneath the riverbank. It was one pleasure of having survived as long as I had. I stood in front of the wall of glass marveling. My age, along with advancing technology, had allowed me to behold what I once thought lost forever.

I had only pulled on my jeans when the music made it's way up the stairs to my ears. She was playing it softly, but I heard it clear as a bell. It was an old tune, something you would hear on the classic stations. It reminded me…

I made my way down the stairs and found her in the kitchen. She was wiping the countertop with a rag, singing along softly.

"_When the tears come streaming down your face_

_When you loose something you can't replace_

_When you love someone but it goes to waste_

_Could it be worse?_

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite…"_

"Please turn that off."

She jumped and gasped as she turned to face me. She was wearing a pair of my boxers and an old Fangtasia t-shirt. She reached over to my iPod and turned it off. I walked past her to the refrigerator and got myself a blood. I didn't bother to heat it.

"I see you did not take my advice," I leaned back against the counter and looked her up and down. She was clean now. Her hair fell in long light brown waves to the middle of her back. Her nose held a surgical steel stud and I could see small hindi spiral tattoos trailing down from behind her left ear. She stood in front of me and stared back.

"How old are you," I gripped the counter behind me, trying to restrain my shock. She completely ignored my reprimand.

"I don't believe we know one another well enough for that, my dear. Where are your clothes and why are you wearing mine?"

"Sorry, but you said to shower and I didn't have anything clean to wear. I found your washer and I'm drying my clothes now. These were out in the garage. I thought I'd clean a bit. Sorry if I woke you with the music. I like old music." She finally stopped for a breath and held her hand out to me. "Devonee, by the way."

I stared until she realized I was not going to accept her hand. She quickly placed it behind her back and looked out the kitchen window.

"It means Godlike," I was referring to the name she had given me. Perhaps it had given her a complex.

"I didn't know that," she spoke softly to the window. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you. I'll get my things packed once they're dry and catch a bus downtown. Thanks for the place to sleep." She looked down at her palm, now healed, without even a faint scar. "And… everything else."

"What else did you discover on your wanderings through my house?" I glanced at the iPod and back at her. "I see you found something to entertain yourself."

"Sorry."

"It is a small offense." I brushed it off quickly. If I had allowed myself to suffer for everything that reminded me of her, I would have been finally dead long ago. "Are you accompanying me this evening? I could use a change of scenery. Pam visits five star restaurants and hotel dining rooms and bars, it can become quite boring."

She looked at me quizzically. I was not sure if she was put off by my mention of Pam or my extended dinner invitation.

"Pam is my business partner. She will not be joining us. As I said, I need a change of scenery."

"Well… where do you want to go?" she drew her gaze from the window, across the kitchen floor and up to meet my stare.

***

"That is not what I meant, Devonee." I was trying to keep myself calm and under control. If I let myself go, she would crumble. I had never made one so fragile. It was taking all of my strength to hold her together. "We must discuss logistics and facts and…" I stared down at the newborn vampire crumpled on the floor next to me. My child.

Her eyes looked back at me, empty. The same eyes that had stared at me, cold and dead, moments before I turned her.

"If that's not an answer, I don't know what is." It was like the flat of a blade coming down across my cheek.

"Devonee Blair!" I erupted. I snapped back into the Master/Child mentality. I saw her cringe and turn her head away from me. "Love does not exist in our world. What kind of a stupid question is that? There will be no room for love in you. Do you understand me?"

I watched as she dug deep to bring up her signature resolve. I knew she would. This was what was left for her and she had to deal with it. When she made up her mind, it was solidified.

We sat late into the night discussing what was to come, protocols, hierarchy. Her place in my home had not changed. She was still my employee, would still see to my business affairs, only at night. We discussed next weeks trip back to Texas. We shared another bottle of blood. And, finally, the sleep of the dead was dragging her under.

I carried her dead weight back into my bedroom and placed her on the bed. I still had an hour before my daytime sleep would take me. I sighed and sat on the comforter next to her. I pulled my shirt off over my head. It had been a tiresome week. I was raw. I was tired. I was determined to return to the normalcy I had become accustomed to. No more fighting for my life, my status. No more fighting for her's.


	2. Chapter 2

"Starseeds, or Kerby Lane. I'm sure both have blood. I haven't been anywhere without blood since I left Ireland, and I was just a kid then." She sat in the passenger's seat of my car, directing me back downtown.

"I am not hungry. The decision is yours." I watched her as she gave me turn by turn directions, motioning every now and then, talking about the buildings we passed, lit up for the night. She commandeered my iPod and began compiling a play list as she sat with her feet curled beneath her. I tried to pick up her accent as I listened to her talk, but it was very faint. She was wearing the same dull orange skirt she wore the night before, with a worn, black tank top. She let her hair fall loose over her shoulders and I could smell my soap on her. She had produced a pair of shoes from somewhere and many strands of cloth, which she tied around her wrists.

"I guess we'll listen to it on the way back," she said as she laid the iPod down on the center console. I had just pulled into the parking lot of a rather run down looking diner off of highway 35 near 34th street. I walked around the car to open her door for her and offered my hand to help her out. She laughed at me and stepped out on her own, heading towards the door of the diner.

From the look of the place I was expecting loud music and dirty teenagers. When I entered the establishment, however, I was presented with a mixed clientele. There was a table of three well-dressed businessmen having drinks in a small dining room to my right, and there was a family with two little boys, and a couple enjoying a night out in the dinning area to my left. The place was dark, and strung around the ceiling were multi colored Christmas lights. There were multiple pieces of repurposed furniture for the bar and the hostess station, but it was more or less clean and there was a pleasant mix of alternative music playing softly in the background.

"Devon!" I looked up and saw Devonee embracing a man with an apron and a pitcher of margaritas. He was thin, short, mid-twenties, covered in tattoos, and his shirt said something about pi. His smile faded when he saw me. "New company?" he asked with a sad smile.

"Eric, Joss. Joss, Eric." She smiled and looked from Joss to me and back again. "Eric's been helping me out, er, ahh… well he let me crash at his place last night." Her ear-to-ear grin faded into a weak smile.

"Have a seat, Babe. I'll be by in a sec. Drinks are on me tonight." Joss walked off to replace the businessmen's empty pitcher.

Brazenly, she grabbed my hand and led me to a booth in the left hand dinning area.

"It's August so the crowds won't really be back for a few weeks when the fall semester starts." She explained as she followed my gaze around the nearly empty diner. "They have good food and good prices, but nothing is ever as busy uptown as it is around Sixth Street."

Joss crouched down by our booth and looked up at Devonee. He had managed to replace his smile.

"Margarita?" he asked.

"Water, thanks. And some biscuits and sausage gravy, and four eggs over medium, and some sweet potato fries. And whatever flavor blood for Eric." She smiled sweetly back at his shocked expression. I wondered where she was going to fit it all.

"We have Blood Type, True Blood, and True Blood: Mixed Blood."

"What types do you carry in the True Blood?" I asked. Blood Type brand was bottom shelf and Mixed Blood was the equivalent of what Sookie would have called 'bitch beer'. I settled on an ABneg and let my attentions fall back to Devonee.

"Why did you break the bottle?" I asked as my mind flowed back to the events of the previous night.

She sighed and looked at a strand of lights that were hanging precariously above her head. I sat there patiently waiting for a response as Joss returned with her water, my blood and a steaming plate of orange fries and ketchup. He promised the rest would be on its way soon and made his way back behind the bar.

I leaned back in the booth and took a swig of my blood. My eyes never left her face. What was she thinking? If she was trying to show me how long she could hold out, she had no idea what she was in for.

"Question for a question," she sighed. She reached her hand out to the plate of fries and they began disappearing in short order.

"I am somewhere around eleven-hundred years old. Your turn."

"He was being a dick and he deserved a bottle to the skull. Only, I missed and hit the doorframe instead, then he locked me out. See, Daniel usually lets me crash at Halcyon on the nights he closes, but the bar manager was there. Dan is a bit of a pussy anyway, so he backed out on me and Keaton kicked me out. It wasn't that he wouldn't let me sleep there. He called me, what was it? Oh, yeah. 'White-trash-fucking-freak-whore.' I'm just fucking sick of it. He can go to hell."

"That was a bit longer of an answer than I was expecting." Just then the rest of her meal arrived. It covered the entire table, barely leaving room for our drinks. She was so preoccupied with her food she failed to hear my next question. I repeated myself. "I said, why don't you have a place to stay?"

She looked up from her eggs, dejectedly.

"Daddy dearest kicked me out. Happens when you tell someone they're a worthless piece of shit. But I was having a bad day."

I raised and eyebrow in question and she just smiled at me. My bullshit meter was screaming. She was pushing the rest of her meal around on her plate. She no longer looked pleased with the food before her.

"Hey, I'm getting a headache. Do you mind…?" and suddenly she slumped down into the seat next to her.

***

It took me only seconds to revive her, but fifteen minutes to settle the bill and assure Joss she was in capable hands. He wanted to leave with us and make sure she made it to the hospital, but settled with leaving his cell number with me, and instructions for her to call if she needed anything.

She was wide awake now and curled up in my back seat, hands fisted into her hair. I kept sneaking glances over my shoulder the entire drive home. She had refused doctors and insisted that the incident had been nothing more than embarrassing. She did not look well.

Once we were back at the house I reached into the backseat. Ignoring her protest I cradled her to my chest and headed toward the front door. Pam was home and peering through one of the front windows at me.

"My hands are a bit busy, Pam. Open the door."

She opened the door before I had reached the first step and stepped back into the great room. I kicked the door shut behind me as I entered the house. Pam was leaning against the back of the sofa, arms crossed, with an amused look on her face. I strode passed her setting Devon on the couch. She was sweating and shaking.

"Well she doesn't look very appetizing. Where'd you find her?"

"She is obviously ill, Pam." I knelt down beside the couch and pulled the now tangled hair back from her face.

"Oh, I know that look." Pam smirked at me. "You might want to get out of the…" Just then Devon rolled her head to the side and deposited her dinner at my feet. "Too. Late." Pam smiled widely. "I've seen it happen to many young human women at Fangtasia. They try to bolster their courage with alcohol. It never does much good."

I took a step back as Pam headed to the kitchen in search of rags and cleaner.

"Sorry," Devon moaned into her hands. "I haven't had anything to drink. I swear."

"No. There is something else… Pam will help you get cleaned up. There is a guest room down the hall that you may use. Please try not to vomit again." I turned to go upstairs to my computer. I had correspondence to reply to, vendors to pay, and a meeting scheduled for the end of the week at La Zona Rosa that I needed to prepare for. All in all the business of 'flipping' bars was progressing well, and I had little hands on work to deal with. Several e-mails and forty-five minutes later, Pam was standing at the top of the stairs, tapping her spike-heeled shoe on the floor.

"Where did she come from? She smells delicious," she grinned as I looked up from my laptop.

"I hope you didn't mention that to her, Pam." I glanced back at the invoices in front of me.

"I would never." When I looked up again, the smile had left her face. "She is a child, Eric. What do you want with her?"

I leaned back in my chair. Since leaving the political world behind me, my relationship with Pam had become much more casual. Almost friendly. I had always loved my child, but there were times when my authority as a maker, and sheriff, had served my purposes. Of course, Pam could leave me anytime she wished, but there was a comfortable familiarity between us, and I realized that I didn't want her to leave me any more than she wanted me to leave her. That being said, she still sometimes pushed the boundary. I let my eyes express my thoughts.

She quit tapping her foot and lowered her chin. "Master."

"She… she could be useful to us. How is she?" That earned me another smirk from Pam. This would not do. She was not something to be so concerned over. "She's not vomiting on the guest linens, is she?"

"No. I bathed her. She's wearing some of your old clothes… they were in her bag. And she's sleeping, I think. But she complained of hunger. I forbid her to eat anything more until her stomach settled."

"That is all, Pam." I had not dismissed her like that in a very long time, but I was in no mood for her quips this evening. I watched as she turned and walked back down the stairs.

I leaned my head back until I was staring at the ceiling. I tried to wipe clean my mind, but I hadn't finished questioning the girl at the diner, and those questions would not release me.

***

Two days later, the girl was still occupying my home. Pam had traveled back to Shreveport to deal with business at the bar. For the last ten years she had been seeing to the running of Fangtasia. My interest in all things having to deal with Louisiana had dwindled, to say the least, and I had seceded majority ownership to Pam. I was, at best, a silent investor. I collected my revenue checks and that was fine with me.

The third night, when I awoke, I sensed something was not as it should be. I had been checking in on the girl a few times each evening, asking 'would she like food', seeing that she stayed hydrated and making sure there was no more vomit to be cleaned up. She had hardly left the bedroom, and only then to use the toilet. I decided that she must eat something and began to order soup and salad to be delivered from a deli down the street. On my way downstairs from my office, the scent hit me like a brick wall.

Unclean blood.

I was down the stairs and in her doorway in seconds. She was laying on the floor crawling towards the bathroom. She rolled over when she saw me, clutching her stomach. She had been sleeping in my boxers and an ancient Fangtasia t-shirt for the past three days. I now noticed the blood dripping down her legs making the black silk of my boxers cling to her thighs. She let out a pained gasp and went slack.

I already had the phone in my hand and ninety seconds later I could hear the ambulance about three blocks away. She was still breathing as I carried her into the great room and laid her out on the floor in front of the door. I opened the door and stepped aside as the paramedics carried in a gurney.

"How far along was she, Mr. Northman?" one asked me as he checked her pulse and respiration.

"I didn't know she…" I trailed off. I should have known. Pam should have known. Any vampire within fifty feet should have been able to smell it on her. "I'm sorry? Are you saying she was pregnant?"

"I said what is your relationship to her, Sir?" I hadn't heard him the first time.

"She is an acquaintance, a guest." The frail little EMT standing in front of me huffed and rolled his eyes in her direction. I reached for his throat. I clenched my fist instead as he backed away from me. "She was not a meal," I growled through clenched fangs. "But I am getting hungrier the more you try my patience. What is wrong with her?"

"She's having a miscarriage, Mr. Northman. This is actually quite normal in girls her age. We'll be taking her to Seton ER for an emergency D&C. She should recover easily, but she'll need someone there when she wakes up. Do you know of any next of kin?"

I glanced at my pocket watch. (Old fashioned, but practical when you are using your wrists for other things.) Just now 7:45 PM. I had almost eleven hours of dark left. If the procedure took any longer, I'd have to find someone else to be there with her. I thought of the cellular number Joss had given me. I nodded curtly to the EMT and grabbed my keys from the coffee table.

"I'll follow you."

***

Four hours later I was shown to a recovery area. Instead of beds there were partially reclined chairs filled with patients in varied states of consciousness. The more time I spent around her, the easier it became for me to pinpoint her smell. An odd mix of fae and something much more guttural than human. Almost…

"Mr. Northman," suddenly, there was on orderly standing between me and the recliner at the end of the long, rectangular room. "We understand that Ms. Blair has no insurance. Do you have an address where we may send her hospital bill?" She was trying to sound professional and organized, but her voice wavered and she kept letting her eyes flit nervously from her clipboard to my face.

I handed her my business card. "I'd appreciate it if all further billing is forwarded to this address." I quickly bypassed her as she muttered a thanks under her breath and turned down the hall. Devon was seated at the far end of the room. In her lap there was a clear plastic bag containing the odd assortment of clothing and jewelry she had been wearing when she was admitted. She was staring out the window at the darkened hospital campus below. Her eyes were half opened and rimmed with dark circles. She was wearing a white hospital shift, hospital socks, and a grey hospital robe. She had a green blanket draped across her shoulders. Her nose was red and a little bloody, and then I realized that she had forced her nose stud back into place.

I came to a halt several feet from the chair and waited for her to speak.

"I don't want to talk about it." Her voice sounded rough after the removal of her intubation.

"I have clean clothes for you." I had gone to a shop down the street from the hospital called Andy's while I was waiting on her to come out of the procedure. I helped her get up and close the blinds and curtains to her recovery pod. She sat back on the edge of her seat and began by removing her socks. Next came the robe. I turned to leave her in privacy.

"Eric." I looked back over my shoulder. She was untying her shift. "I can't do this alone. Still really woozy." She demonstrated this by trying to stand. I quickly stepped back into the pod and caught her under her arms before she slumped all the way to the floor.

I sat her back on the chair and she shed the shift, looking at the floor the entire time. I helped her into her new clothes. I had purchased a grey, calf-length scoop neck tank-dress with an elastic empire waist, and a pale green, tunic-length sweater coat. I Bushed my fingers through her hair and replaced her earrings, rings, and the strips of clothe she wore as bracelets. All of these tasks we performed in silence.

When she was clothed and standing steadily on her own, I took her left arm and guided her from the hospital back to my car. Her medical instructions were to rest, stay hydrated, and eat small meals every three to four hours for the next day. She was given a weeks supply of Darvon for the pain and a three months supply of birth control pills. I opened the car door and prepared to lift her in, but she slid down into the seat on her own, curling her bare feet up underneath her.

When we were well on our way back to my home, she began speaking.

"I was done with school by the time I was fifteen. Graduated. And people had been avoiding me for a few years before that. When I was twelve, I started to say things bout people I would meet that would turn out to be true. Like when I met you. By the time I graduated, my dad was dying. Drugs. He wasn't doing a great job of providing, so I went to work as an intuitive. I worked in bookstores and coffee shops, herb shops, smoke shops. Then about eighteen months ago, I got an opportunity to sublet a loft down by campus. Beautiful two story, furnished. I signed a contract for two years and between waiting tables and my other 'odd jobs', I could just afford it. About three months ago, the owner calls me up and tells me that a friend of his from St. Martin was going to be in town for a week or so and needed a place to stay." Here she became silent. We were almost back to my home. I kept my eyes on the road as my mind wandered, trying to piece together her story and her wild scent.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Where was your mother?"

"Dead."

I parked in front of the garage and walked around the car to retrieve her from the passenger's side. This time she took the hand I offered and allowed me to lead into the house. I placed her bag of bloodied clothing just inside the garage and paced back into the great room where she was curled up on the far corner of the couch. The couch was long enough for me to stretch out on and she looked so small condensed into a ball in the corner. She was staring at the quilt lying across one arm of the couch.

"That is the ugliest quilt I've ever seen."

"I couldn't agree more," I hid the smile I knew was creeping across my face and paced to the center of the couch where I sat down and pulled her bare feet into my lap. She shivered as my cool fingers began to massage the arch of her left foot. She was still curled around her center, subconsciously protecting something that was no longer there. As I continued with my hands she began to relax and stretch out across the length of the couch towards me. Finally she laid her head back and began speaking again.

"He was the father. His name was Luc. He spoke nothing but French and a week later, he was gone. I lost the apartment after that. My 'indiscretion' offended my landlord and he kicked me out. Said he couldn't have crazy trash doing God-know-what in his loft. So I've been without residence for the past six weeks, give or take, and I only just realized I was pregnant – the night I met you, in fact."

I watched her lean her head back and close her eyes. Her neck was arched away from me, extruding her collarbone as her chest gently rose and fell in time with her breathing. Her pulse was slowing and the muscles of her calves were relaxing under my cool hands. I gently shook my head to bring my thoughts back to the present. So many questions left unanswered, but so many new questions as well. I chose my next words carefully.

"What were you planning to do?"

"I don't know really," she sighed, her eyes still closed. "The doctors said they couldn't tell, but I knew it was a girl. I had dreams about her."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So heads up. this will be from Eric/Devonee's POV. I felt her Character needed a little more development. Not sure if I'll continue this way, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Always appreciative of reviews, so let me know what you think. Enjoy :)

********

_I am the answer. What is the question? _

If vampires dream, they have no conscious recall afterwards. There is simply a void of time, no sense of passing. We close our eyes to the sunrise and open them to the night. When I arose the following evening, it was silent in the house. No music, no television. No breath. I pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt (one of the new La Zona Rosa prototypes I'd been working on), and paced to the window wall, overlooking the river. Now I could hear her. She stood near the edge of the cliff face, leaning on a small cedar tree.

I padded down the stairs and through the great room into the kitchen. She had eaten little last night – tea and toast. This morning she'd had even less, managing only half a cup of tea. She hadn't taken any more of the pain pills since we had left Seton ER last night. I began down the hall toward the room where she had been staying, but her smell had dissipated.

I headed back to the couch where her scent was strongest. I sat there with my hand on the quilt I had covered her with last night. There was something so strong in her scent, yet subtle, like the grass in summer time.

She told me many things last night, about her parents, what she remembered of Ireland and her grandparents. Her grandfather was American, from the south. Her grandmother had died giving birth to her father. He had been a studious man and an Art History Professor at a college in Dublin. Her mother had been his TA his first year teaching. A year later she had died giving birth to Devonee. I was sure that she was part fae, but something else mingled within her blood. Her scent brought back memories of last night. The arch of her neck, the steady in and out rhythm of her breath. Her comments about the quilt. I remembered the first time I saw this quilt.

_She asked if my feet were cold. What a silly question. "No." She removed a quilt from the back of her couch anyway. I looked at it as she placed it over my bare legs and feet. "That's truly hideous." She smiled._

"_That's what Bill said."_

I stood and made my way to the back door. She was sitting now, leaning back against the cedar. Her feet were bare and dirty and her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She was wearing the same dress I had bought her last night, without the sweater. It was a warm night.

No matter how much care I took to be quiet around her, Devon always seemed to know when I approached. I padded silently across the grass on my bare feet to the tree where she sat. I stood there patiently until she patted the ground beside her.

"If I could just stay here through the weekend, I'm sure I could arrange some…" she trailed off. She and I both knew she would not have her living arrangements sorted out by the weekend. I sat down next to her and leaned back against the tree, looking out across the river. We sat there in silence together for several long moments.

I needed more time with her, to discover what she could do – where she came from. I couldn't let her know my intensions without risking her trust. She needed a home and employment. If I could make her dependant upon me it might not be so difficult to keep her here. Suddenly I realized I was thinking like a sheriff. She was not a tool to be collected; yet her usefulness was a very attractive prospect. And she had real character - an ability to survive that few humans utilized.

I reached down and grasped her wrist. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her knees. She instantly relaxed her grip and let me hold her tiny hand in my larger one. I examined the palm that I had healed for her. Barely a scar.

"Why won't you glamour me?"

I turned my head to look at her. Runny makeup stained her cheeks and her eyes were bright around her gold irises. Her gaze was unflinching and I knew she was intuiting. The knowledge was unnerving. Even in Sookie's most heightened state of mental capacity, she had never been able to utilize her ability to glimpse vampire minds on command. This child read my intentions as if they were printed on the front page of the _Statesman_.

"I know you want me to stay, but you won't glamour me. You want to convince me, trick me. Why don't you try asking? You have a pretty good idea, given my options, I'll say-"

"Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," I interrupted quickly. She was being far too blunt, which was odd since I was usually fond of the quality. "Pam needs assistance. Being unable to attend to certain affairs here in Texas, while she is taken away on Fangtasia business, is inconvenient – for Pam, as well as for myself. You would be compensated monetarily as well as given continued residence in my home, which you have enjoyed freely this week."

She stared at me through blurry eye and tried to hide a grin. "What's the catch?"

"There is no 'catch'. You will be compensated for services preformed. You will assist Pam and myself during the evenings and attend to certain tasks that must be preformed in daylight hours. When Pam will be absent, she will brief you on business concerning me and you will assist me and attend meetings with me in her absence, and so forth. We used to have attorneys, and contracts drawn up, and punishments upheld for oath breakers several generations ago. Some still do, but I am no longer in that kind of business. You will be put on payroll and receive a W2. There is health insurance as well."

She continued staring at me, glassy-eyed.

"Do you accept?" She opened her mouth and was about to speak when she shut it abruptly. She sat back and allowed me to speak once more. "Before you do, remember that I have already tasted your blood. It would be… prudent… if you were to allow me to exchange blood with you tonight. It would solidify your place in my household. Protection…" I was still holding her hand. I looked down at it now as I felt it trembling in my own. I don't know why she went along with the charade when she knew I was not being entirely truthful with her. The blood exchange was not necessary in the least.

Sitting there, on the cliffs overlooking the Colorado River, she moved closer to me, removed her hand from mine and placed her fingers against my mouth. I took her hand in mine once more, pulling it away from my lips, and bit my right wrist. I held it out for her as I brought her palm up to my mouth once again. She nodded bravely as she took my wrist into her mouth. I felt the gentle pull on my veins as my fangs came down.

"Harder," I ordered just before reopening the scar on her palm.

She cried out.

***

When I woke up, I felt much better. There was still a dull ache, but it wasn't physical anymore. Eric had warned me that his blood would have this effect on me. He said he had allowed me just enough to heal my "physical wounds" without making me excessively strong or "uninhibited". My head spun as I sat up too quickly. I was in the guest room of Eric's house on Mt Bonell – my room, now.

Like everything else in the house it was clean, but homey feeling without being cluttered. Not cold. Not what I'd expected in a vampire's house. The walls were a rich navy color with a sort of shimmer – like the inside of a shell. There was a large wood-framed mirror leaned up against one wall. I'd say it was about 6 ft square. The wall opposite the mirror held the bedroom's door, a bureau and an armoire. Both pieces were a rich, dark stain with intricate carvings. They looked at least 50 years old. Between those two walls was the bed I was laying in. It was plain - low profile, with no headboard or footboard. The bed linens were a soft cotton in grey and blue and gold. And the best part, immediately opposite the bed, was an entire wall of glass. It was vampire safe and had sort of a yellowish-brown tint to it, but I didn't mind. It gave an unbelievable view of the river.

I leaned back on my elbows and searched the room for a clock. In the past week I hadn't really cared to look for one. As my eyes scanned the space around me I saw a piece of paper taped to the mirror. I swung my legs off the edge of the bed. I was wearing a purple cotton nightgown and matching robe. I didn't own these and certainly hadn't remembered putting them on. I walked to the mirror and pulled the paper from its surface, leaving sticky tape residue. I wrinkled my nose at the thought of getting it off later. I unfolded the piece of paper and discovered a note from Eric.

_D,_

_Pam is back in town and will attend to her business with me this evening, alone. This affords you a chance to run any necessary errands you might have. I have left a list of things you will require for work next week along with a company card. There is a two-thousand dollar limit, but that should suffice for your needs until this evening._

_Please buy yourself some food to keep in the refrigerator. And please buy yourself some more day-to-day clothes. And please shower._

_There is a cell phone on the bureau and a set of keys on the coffee table._

_See you this evening._

_-E_

I left the note on the bed and went to the bureau. There was the cell phone, the list and the company card. The card was small and black and had the words _Northman Entertainment Group, Inc._ pressed in silver letters across the front. Next I flipped open the cell phone. At first it appeared to be all black, no screen, no buttons. Then a soft violet light pulsed and numbers appeared at the bottom. Then the touch screen began to illuminate. I touched the contacts icon and saw that Pam's, Eric's and Fangtasia's numbers were already programmed in. Surprisingly Joss' number was listed also. I closed the phone and turned my attention to the list. There was another short note scrawled at the top.

_D,_

_Please purchase some club appropriate business attire. Nothing trashy. Get yourself some day-to-day clothing as well. You will require a briefcase and shoes. _

_Two skirts or dresses_

_Three or four nice pants_

_Blouses_

_Shoes_

_Briefcase_

_Here are some stores you might find helpful:_

_Coach_

_Steve Madden_

_Cache_

_And an array of other outlets at The Domain._

_After your errands are run, please return home by 11 PM. We have things to discuss._

_-E _

I put the note back on the bureau and turned to open the armoire. Inside hung my orange skirt and my two tank tops, the sweater Eric bought for me, and the dress. My duffle bag sat on the bottom. On top of it was the plastic bag full of bloody clothing I had worn the night I… went to the ER. I sunk down to the floor in front of the open door, staring at the bloody black and red mess in the plastic. I pulled the plastic bag out of the armoire and folded it as tightly as I could. I unzipped my duffle and shoved the bag to the bottom, beneath books and shoes and toiletries.

When I stood up I realized I had been crying and my nose was runny. I grabbed the dress off its hanger and removed my pajamas, pulling the dress on quickly. There was something heavy in the pocket. I reached my hand in and pulled out an old iPod. There was a note wrapped around it.

_For inspiration._

_-E _

He certainly did like to leave little notes. I shook my head and smiled a little as I put the iPod back in my pocket. I grabbed a pair of sandals and sunglasses from my duffle bag and the credit card, list and phone from the bureau and headed for the great room.

I found my keys on the coffee table like the note instructed. There was a house key, a Toyota key, and another, smaller, older looking key. The key chain was a simple tension wire loop with a pewter letter D dangling with the keys. I remembered seeing a black Toyota Land Cruiser parked in Eric's garage a couple of days ago.

As I walked through the kitchen towards the garage door, I realized I wasn't hungry at all. I opened the door to the garage and there it sat. All pretty and shiny. It looked like it had just been washed and waxed. It was an older model. Maybe eight years old. I reached for the door handle hoping that it had been computerized at some point since I didn't know how to drive. I opened the door and climbed into the drivers seat behind the steering wheel. As I slid the key in the ignition and turned, an LED screen flipped out from the dash. Words scrolled across the screen as a touch keyboard appeared at the bottom.

_Good afternoon. Please enter your desired destination or press cancel to return to manual vehicle operation._

Thank Christ, I didn't have to drive.

I entered my destination and placed the iPod in its dock. I heard a small chime and looked back up at the screen.

_Please fasten your seatbelt and your trip will begin shortly. Current travel time to The Domain by way of MoPac Blvd./Loop 1 is 27 minutes._

I clicked my seatbelt snugly and turned my attention back to the music. Lots of oldies, but I guess when you're as old as Eric said he was, you pick up on a lot of different music styles. It didn't matter. I liked the old stuff. It's what my Grandpa had listened to before we left Ireland. I scrolled through the list of songs, settled on one of my favorites and sang along.

_She held the world upon a string_

_But she didn't ever hold me_

_Spun the stars on her fingernails_

_But it never made her happy_

'_Cause she couldn't ever have me_

_She said she won the world at a carnival_

_But she couldn't ever win me_

_Because she couldn't ever catch me_

_I, I know why_

_Because when I look in her eyes, I just see the sky_

_When I look in her eyes, well, I just see the sky_

Suddenly I wondered what this song meant to Eric and why he had it on his iPod?

***

I stopped a man passing me on the cross walk to ask the time. It was 6:45 and would be getting dark in about an hour. Eric had asked me to be back by 11. Did that mean he wanted me to stay gone till 11? I figured I'd split the difference, kill some time and be home around 9. I'd been running my ass all over The Domain for a few hours now and I was worn out.

When I got to Coach that afternoon, I found out that Eric had already picked out three options of briefcases for me. How nice of him. Hmph. I picked a dark grey leather messenger style bag, that was about $700 dollars. I was relieved to find out it would go on Eric's store account and not the credit card. Next I went to Steve Madden. I picked up a pair of silver heels with a modest ankle strap, a pair of black heels with a strap that wrapped my ankle about four or five times before buckling, and two pairs of flat slipper-type shoes in platinum and black leather. There went $400 bucks. I managed to find a White House Black Market and picked up several fitted blouses and tunics, and a knee-length black suede wrap skirt. I decided I needed some dress jeans and other casual clothes. I found some trouser style and some relaxed boot cut jeans at a little boutique called Free People. This shop was more my style and I picked up my "day-to-day attire" here.

By the time I decided to head back to the car, I had spent almost all of the money on the card. I remembered that I still had to go grocery shopping for myself. Fuck. Well, I had about $180 bucks left. That could get me dinner and groceries easy. It's not as though I'd be buying food for the other two residents of the house. Though I should probably pick up some True Blood.

I hadn't eaten well in a few days, and I was beginning to feel it. I decided to use my new cell phone and find out what Joss was up to. I'd treat him to dinner if he'd let me. He picked up on the fifth ring.

"Who's this?"

"Devonee. What'cha doin'?" I heard a hissy sound, like steam rising in the background.

"Soldering." Then a grunt. "Are you calling from that Northman vamp's phone?"

"Mhmm. Ya hungry, or does food hold no interest compared to motherboards?" I chuckled under my breath.

"Trust me, my _least_ favorite thing is rewiring motherboards. Wait, are you inviting me to eat? I'm not working tonight, babe. Can't afford much. Broke college student and all. Remember?" I heard something sizzle and Joss draw a sharp breath.

"Ouch, that sounded painful." I reached the car and was loading my bags into the backseat. "Actually I thought I'd treat you to some Indian food, if you'd let me."

He was silent for a moment. "Ok," he finally answered. "Just let me get to smelling pretty. Give me about forty minutes and I can meet you at The Clay Pit 2."

"You read my mind." I smiled and hung up the phone as I climbed into the SUV.

***

After a meal of naan, coconut shrimp and curried mussels, Joss joined me on my grocery trip.

We walked through the market and talked about summer coming to an end. There would be the return of a very arrogant, very confused, and very busy student body. Crowds everywhere.

It was the safest conversation we could settle on. He'd been extremely upset when he'd learned I had gone to the ER without calling him. He still didn't know why. And he'd been upset when I told him about my new job. Though I know he had held back. He knew I needed a job and a real place to live. He knew it was good for me. Then there was the fact I'd have health insurance and the car.

When he was helping me load my groceries into the back of the car he stopped suddenly. He stood there with his and on the back door, staring at me. "You know I said you can always come stay with me, Devon."

He didn't even bother to say he'd stay on the couch. He knew I could feel his intentions. Joss and I had dated when I was sixteen and he was twenty. He was my first boyfriend and things had gotten very serious, very soon. In short, we fucked like rabbits. He had asked me to move in with him when my dad died and it had all gone to hell. I found out soon he burned just as cold as he did hot, and it was without any warning that he made the switch. We hadn't lasted two months living together – eight months total. But I could never let him be far from me in my life. I loved him too much to leave him completely. I guess that's selfish, but we made our friendship work.

"I don't want to sleep with you, Joss. I want a job and a life. And I'd just end up being a burden to you in the end, you know it." I stepped forward and kissed him softly on the lips. His eyes were closed tight when I stepped back. "Why can't we just stay like this?"

Just then the sky opened up. Rain started soaking through my clothing as a cold wind picked up outside the market. Joss pushed the back door down and pulled me around to the front of the SUV.

"You should get home and get dry. Call me in the morning."

"Why don't you let me take you home?" I asked as he pushed me up into my seat. "You don't have an umbrella, and I know you won't take the buss!" I smiled at him as he glared up at me. "Come on, I'm cold!"

He nodded, slammed my door, and went around to the passengers side. I put the address into the computer.

_Travel time to 604 Franklin Blvd., 17 minutes. Please Buckle up and your trip will begin shortly._

***

I woke up in Eric's bed. The rain was coming down hard. It brought back memories of the night I started working for him back in Texas. The rain felt different here. Like it felt different all over the world, I suppose. It certainly felt different in Ireland. Ireland had a cold rain, Texas had a muggy rain, and both soaked you to the core. The rain in Louisiana was a sad rain. It was hard to explain in any other way.

I expected to feel groggy and unsteady like I always did after waking. I did not expect the energy, the since of surety and control that was coming off of me in waves and surges. I noticed that the bed next to me was empty and I occupied the room alone. I was immersed in complete darkness in the light tight bedroom. Yet I knew it was full dark outside, along with the wind and rain. I had no problems seeing every detail of Eric's room. I had never been in his bedroom in Louisiana before. The door had always remained locked.

I looked around me and discovered it was a bigger version of my bedroom back in Austin. Same walls and warm wood floors; same bed linens. There was a large cream-colored velour rug under my feet. A mirror leaned against the wall to the left of the bed and a wardrobe and two large chests of drawers sat to the right. There were two doors set on this wall as well. One led into the rest of the house, from the smell of it, and the other led to what I assumed was a master bathroom. Behind the bed and across from it, the walls were lined with built in bookcases that were filled, ceiling to floor. I would have to peruse the titles later.

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at my surroundings, listening to the rain, when I realized I was also hearing water coming from the bathroom. Eric must be showering. I don't know why I didn't join him. After all I had read and heard about newborns, we would be blood thirsty and full of lust, an yet all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

At least I knew vampires couldn't dream. For the first time in years, I hadn't dreamed about her.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is a bit short, but it seemed like a logical place to end. We are back to Eric POV for the time being. WARNING - sexually explicit content in this chapter! Also, after the sex scene, at the very end of the chapter, I recommend that you listen to _You Could Be Happy_ by Snow Patrol. It pretty much encompasses everything that Eric is feeling and will lead in to some interesting content involving Sookie. There are also some interesting things going on with Pam. I've already gotten grief about it from my boyfriend. But just wait and see, you might like where this is going. So '_please fasten your seat belts and your trip will begin shortly_' ;) Enjoy!

***

For six months she had been living in my house, working for me, sleeping just downstairs. I had gotten used to seeing her in my kitchen when I awoke. She'd be chatting with Pam, or confirming a meeting or a shipment over the telephone or via web conference. She slept little and ate as little again. She was awake when I ended one evening and awake again when I began the next. If it weren't for the surveillance cameras, I wouldn't be sure she slept at all.

Despite my concern, I couldn't complain. She was attentive in meetings, efficient in seeing to household affairs. She made an excellent dinner date and dance partner. She was professional while on the clock and amusing in her time off. It was understood early on that she was to entertain no one in the house, either socially or professionally. Se held to this explicitly. She would go out for drinks or to movies with Joss occasionally, and she mentioned a female companion, Alison, once in a while.

Nonetheless, though our blood exchange had been minimal, and months ago, I could feel her becoming worn, almost threadbare around the edges. She needed to slow down. While she had been performing the job I'd hired her for without incident, her intuitive nature had been suffering. Her comments to me about business contacts had become less frequent, and frequently slightly off.

I planned to give her some much needed time off this week. Her birthday was tomorrow – February 24th – and she should rest and enjoy herself. I was also planning to give her another small infusion of my blood.

"Eric," she was waving papers in front of me as I stood, looking out my bedroom window at the river. "I need you to sign these when you wake up. Pam's flight is leaving in ninety minutes from Austin/Bergstrum. You should call her."

"It is unnecessary."

"She doesn't know when she'll be back. Aren't you even a little worried?"

I looked away from the river, over my shoulder, at the bed. Pam and I had said our goodbyes last night. "It was my choice to leave the world of politics behind me. If she wishes to be dragged back in, so be it." Pam had been called on by Sandy to host a royal wedding at a Vampire hotel in Shreveport. As Pam was now a powerful businesswoman in vampire and human circles alike, Sandy wished to discuss a return to politics with her.

As my child she had come to ask my permission to leave me for an extended period of time. I made it clear that her decisions were hers alone, and under no circumstances was I going to become politically involved in the affairs of Louisiana and Nevada. If she found herself running, she would be running alone. But I also made sure she knew she would always be welcomed back into my household, as long as she left politics behind.

We stood in silence, after all the necessary words had been spoken. We had been each other's constant companions for the past fifty years. I would not make her do this. And she understood.

She came to me with as much lust and love as I possessed at that moment. We remembered each other from nearly three hundred years ago. It had been that long since we had made love. It did not last long and the passion dissipated as quickly as it had risen. She dressed and left, well before dawn, knowing we may never see each other again. The word was not spoken, but I felt the finality of it as I heard her shut her bedroom door.

I glanced from the bed back to Devon, still holding the papers out to me. "That is all that will be said about it. Now," I tried a smile, though it came out more as a smirk. "Get me a blood, would you?"

***

As I came down the stairs on my way to the kitchen, I heard an old movie playing in the great room.

"_You arrogant son of a bitch!"_

"_Would you just stay with me?"_

"_Stay with you? What for? Look at us, we're already fighting."_

"_Well, that's what we do. We fight. You tell me when I'm being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you're being a pain in the ass. Which you are 99% of the time. I'm not afraid to hurt your feelings. They have like a two second rebound rate and you're back doing the next pain-in-the-ass thing."_

"_So, what?"_

"_So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. And we're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that, because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day. Will you do something for me? Please? Will you just picture your life for me? 30 years from now, 40 years from now, what's it look like? If it's with that guy, go! Go! I lost you once, I think I could do it again, if I thought it's what you really wanted. But don't you take the easy way out."_

Devon stopped the movie as she noticed me standing behind the couch.

"_The Notebook_, you know it?" without looking back she lifted up a warm bottle of blood and patted the cushion next to her.

I rounded the couch and sat down. "I have seen the film." I had watched it with Sookie a few months before she left. I took a swig of blood. I could sense the exhaustion coming from Devon. She was curled up in the corner of the sofa much like she was on that night…

Tonight we were off work. Aside from the few phone calls at the beginning of the evening and the small amount of paperwork she needed me to sign, Devon could relax. She was wearing a pair of brown trousers, a worn white tank top and the sweater I had bought for her last August. As usual, her feet were bare. Tonight her hair ran down her back in two long braids. I smelled woody, smoky scents on her before I realized she had laid a fire in the hearth. I looked at the fire burning steadily, then back at her.

"It's supposed to snow," she smiled. "It hasn't snowed in Austin since I was a kid. They say it'll turn to sleet and freezing rain, but it'll snow for a little while at least. Banks will close, schools, businesses. It's like I'll get my own holiday this year for my birthday."

"How old, this year?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. She was born at her grandfather's home in Dublin, Ireland, Devonee Sidah Blair, on February 24, 2029. She would be twenty years old at 4:28 AM. I was nothing if not thorough.

"How old do you think, Mr. Northman?" she laughed as she sat up and reached for a steaming mug set on the coffee table. I smelled chocolate and chili powder. Certainly an Austin favorite.

"Not even legal, is my guess. You're still drinking chocolate milk." I rarely teased unless I was trying to get somewhere.

"How incredibly vague of you. I'll be twenty, but you already knew that." She became very quiet as she sat and sipped her drink. She was staring at her feet, or the floor beneath them. She didn't look as much exhausted as she did weary. I saw her sadness for a moment. Then she looked up abruptly. "Snow!" she slammed her mug down on the table and jumped to her feet.

I stood and watched her skid across the floor to the window wall. She reached her hand out to the doorknob and looked down at her bare feet. "Oh, fuck it." She said as she slipped out into the darkness.

I stood for a moment, by the couch, smelling her scent dissipate. Finally I followed her out the back door. The temperature was nothing to concern me, but I was sure she had to be freezing. I scanned the landscape in front of me. Snow was falling on the cedars and already blanketing the ground.

I saw her crouching near her cedar tree, gathering the snow into a loose lump in her hand. She stood to aim, but I was faster. I moved just as she was releasing the snow from her hand. She overshot and lost her balance on the slippery ground. I watched her fall backwards into the snow with a thud.

"Ow! Shit!" she cursed as she tried to push herself up on her elbows. Seconds later I had my hands under her arms, lifting her to her feet. She tried to turn around but I pulled her close to me, forcing her to stay still. I stood there until her breathing slowed. I could feel the heat escaping her body through her head and chest.

"Look at how even the dry hills of Texas can be transformed by the snow," I could hear my accent emerge ever so subtly as I whispered into her ear. I felt her shake beneath my grasp. "Are you trembling because you are cold or because you are afraid of me?" My eyes darted down to her neck where I could hear her pulse begin to quicken. She didn't answer me as we stood, close together in the falling snow.

As quickly as the snow had begun to fall, it changed to a stinging, soaking rain. I looked down at her bare feet and picked her up and carried her back to the house.

***

I laid another log on the fire as she discarded her sweater, which had gotten the brunt of the freezing rainfall, and wrapped herself up in the ugly old quilt. She stood next to me in front of the fire, the condensation drying on her face as it warmed.

I turned to look at her, placed my hand on her shoulder and ran it down the length of her arm and back up again. I pushed the quilt back and let it fall to the floor. She was cold and I noticed the goose bumps stand up on her bare arms, just as her nipples began to harden beneath her damp shirt. She stared straight at my chest. She wasn't moving and was barely breathing. I gently placed my hands on either side of her jaw and tilted her head up to look me in the eyes. She looked overwhelmed, unsure and curious all at once.

"What do you want?" I asked as I pushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.

She sighed and stepped forward. I could feel her releasing all of her tension. She buried her face in my shoulder, and I held her for a few moments before she looked up at me again. "I'm so tired of being alone. I want to be with you tonight. However you want me."

The distance from the fireplace to my bedroom was traveled in seconds. I placed her on the bed and walked into the bathroom to run a shower. When I returned to the bedroom, she had undone her braids and was about to discard her shirt. "Let me," I instructed as I took her hand and led her into the bathroom. I placed her in front of the shower and stood back to look at her.

I knelt down in front of her and peeled the damp shirt up over her belly. I kissed her skin causing more goose bumps to appear and a shiver to run up her spine. As I inched the shirt further up, I followed it with my mouth. When I reached her breasts, I stood and removed the shirt completely. I let my fingers trail down over a nipple and back to her waist. I unbuttoned her trousers and slid them slowly to the floor. She was wearing a tiny pair of white bikini panties. She hooked her fingers under the fabric and slid them down her legs to join her pants on the floor. This was the first time I had seen her naked since I had helped her to dress that night in the hospital.

I motioned for her to step into the shower, and began to undress myself. Once I was unencumbered by clothing, I happily joined her beneath a warm stream of water. She had her back to me and I closed my arms around her, pulling her closer. My erection was pressed up against her back and she jumped a little when our skin touched. I bent my head and trailed my nose along her jaw line up to her ear. "I've wanted you…" I broke off my whisper as she moaned loudly.

With one hand still holding her firmly, I let the other hand wander. It found its way to rest nicely on her hip, just above her pelvis. I could hear her breathing quicken. I ran my hand back up her body to her shoulder, then turned her around to face me. I let my lips fall hard into hers as I pressed her back up against the shower wall. We remained like this for several minutes before I backed away and stepped slowly out of the shower, pulling her by her wrists towards me.

I reached behind me for towels and handed one to her as I began to dry first, her hair, then the rest of her. She followed suite and I was soon lifting her in my arms, carrying her back to my bed. As I laid her down beneath me she turned her head to look out the window at the freezing rain forming ice sickles on the eves. I watched as a smile spread across her face and for the first time in months, I believed it.

I let my fingers sink deep into her as I heard her moan deepen. Her eyes snapped back to me. "I want you to watch." My voice sounded gruff even to my own ears. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at my fingers working themselves in and out of her. Her body began to tense and relax in waves. I rested my head on her thigh and watched her watching me. I kept her from closing her eyes. When I sensed she was close, I let my mouth fall onto her wet pussy. I closed my lips lightly around her clitoris and licked a few times, before suckling gently. She came and I felt her body tense and shake in response. She cried out softly something like "Ohph!" and let out a long sigh.

I immediately replaced my fingers with my dick. I had worked her opening to allow for the size of it, but it was still a pleasantly tight fit. I leaned over her with my first thrust and grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. I inclined my head to whisper in her ear. "You are magnificent," I cooed to her softly.

I kept my pace slow and planted kisses all over her face and arms. She began thrusting up to meet me as I brought my pelvis down. She couldn't get close enough while I held her hands above her. I was in control. She began to beg, "Eric! Please…"

"Shh, dear one. I will take care of you." I slowed my pace even more and rocked back onto my heels until I was in a sitting position and I was pulling her up to straddle my lap. She looked up at me, and I pulled her face close to mine. She wrapped her arms around my chest and under my arms to grasp my shoulders for support. I held both sides of her face and kissed her as we gently rocked back and forth.

I Gently pulled my lips away and began to lean back on my elbows. I sopped thrusting and let her take over. She was quick to pick up the pace. She placed one hand on my chest and the other in her hair. As I began to feel our climax coming I sat up and placed my hand on her hip to help guide her back to me. With my other hand I pulled her breast into my mouth and bit down hard. We came together and collapsed on top of each other.

I managed to disentangle myself long enough to fetch a towel so that she might clean herself a bit. Afterwards, she sat wrapped up in me and my sheets, one of my arms around her waist, the other propped beneath my head. She stared back out into the frozen night, the ice sickles now about two inches long.

"You know what I think the problem is with most women?" she asked suddenly.

"Now this theory, I must hear," I chuckled softly but gave her my full attention. Any opportunity I was given to understand her better, I was willing to take.

"It seems to me that most women - not all of them, but most – want to be in love in a movie. And that's just misleading. Love never happens like that. That's why I like _The Notebook_ so much. It's real and messy. It's not a fairytale, it's life. Not that I haven't cried myself to sleep over a broken heart, but I have to accept that hearts do get broken. Right?"

I managed the most genuine smile I could, but I knew she'd never buy it. "Glad to hear you aren't expecting me to be the 'fairytale' guy." I laughed softly as I thought to myself, if my heart had still beat, it would have stopped the moment she walked out the door all those years ago. I don't know if that's heartbreak, but I know it would have stopped beating.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Another really short one, sorry. There are three songs referenced in this chapter. Two are integral to Eric's state of mind, the other just fit really well with the scene. The two major songs are _Sometimes_ by Yoav, and _Jambi_ by Tool. The other song is _Gramarye_ by Remy Zero. It's groovy and I think it says something about how Eric feels about Sookie.

In other news, my grandfather has had a series of strokes this week and is in very bad shape. I'm not sure how soon I will be submitting another chapter, so please be patient. I'm really proud of where this is going and hope you are all enjoying it. I've got good things comming, I promise.

***

The next evening when I awoke, my bed was empty. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, running my hand over the empty space beside me. It was still warm and I smelled her there. I could sense her absence in the house. It was like a void in the space surrounding me. I sat up and looked out on the icy night. There was a small piece of paper taped to the window. I crossed the room and snatched the note from the glass. I was certain I would not like what was written there.

_Eric,_

_The rain stopped a few hours ago and people are starting to get out on the roads. It's still pretty icy, but I'll be careful. Going out for coffee with Joss. Call if you need me. Thanks for the time off._

_See you tonight._

_-D_

I walked over to my desk and sat down in front of my laptop. I opened it and sat, staring at the screen. I crumpled the note and threw it in the garbage bin at my feet. I shook off the nagging jealous feeling. She didn't belong to anyone, not me, and certainly not him.

Without another thought of her activities, I began my evening by checking my e-mail. Normally I would have a blood and Devon would brief me on my messages and any deadlines to be met for the night. I was on my own this evening, so I turned on some music and set my mind to other things.

My inbox held little interest for me for the first few minutes. I had cleared my schedule for the week days ago. There wasn't anything truly pressing to see to. Then my browser refreshed and I saw a received message from Pam.

_Eric,_

_I have arrived in Shreveport and briefly met with Sandy. She would like to discuss the possibility of me acting as political ambassador for Louisiana and Nevada. Victor, it seems, has fallen out of favor with the King and lost all of his positions and offices, as well as the King's protection. Something about trying to acquisition more territory in Felipe's name by methods that would bring shame upon the King. Really just a lot of _drama_, if you ask me. _

_Anyway, I am inclined to accept the position. I will see to the ceremonies of tomorrow night's union between California and Arizona, then I will travel with Sandy to meet with Felipe in Las Vegas to discuss things further._

_Sandy assures me that I will still be available to maintain my position in both of my business interests. If you still have need of me, Master, I am always willing._

_How do things progress with the _ragamuffin_? I hope to see you both again soon. She reminds me of Sookie with her sense of humor. Don't let her fuck things up with The Elephant Room. It's a strong account for us._

_-Pam_

I let my fingers glide across the keyboard idly as I thought to myself. I wasn't ready for Pam to return to me just yet. If she wanted to stretch her wings in her newfound political career, so be it. I'd let her. She would tire of it soon, I was sure. I'd tell her to stay away until she could be sure that her political interests would not interfere with my business. I had to smile, though. It was good to hear from Pam.

I leaned back in my chair and let the music sink in. It had been months since I had been in the house alone. Though I was still unsure about the way things stood with Devon, I was glad for the privacy her absence afforded me – at least for the moment.

Yes. She reminded me of Sookie also. I began to really hear the song playing in the background:

_Sometimes the day's long as the night turns cold,_

_And you just don't know what to feel anymore,_

_And you live without love,_

_When you live in doubt,_

_Sometimes a man,_

_Is a fool,_

_When he thinks he's wise,_

_And he just can't see what's before his own eyes,_

_Sometimes,_

_The truth is hard to find_

I let it take me back to her.

***

I stood in my office in the back of Fangtasia. I was leaning back against my desk trying to reign in my feelings of frustration before they built to feelings of anger. "You have absolutely no sense of self preservation," I barked back at her. I wasn't doing a very thorough job of controlling my emotions.

Sookie stood up from the couch across the room from me and turned toward the door to leave.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she reached for the doorknob and turned. I heard _Gramarye_ coming over the speakers out in the club. Then the sound was muffled as she gently shut the door behind her.

I walked around my desk and slowly sat down in my chair, running my fingers back through my hair. I could feel her through the bond. She was still in the club. She would turn around and come back to me. If not tonight, then tomorrow or the next night. Nothing that she said to me had felt real. Nothing had come across the bond as genuine, except two things. I thought back on how well the evening had begun.

Sookie was already gone when I awoke this evening. She had been putting her affairs back in order since the fae war. I had convinced her that it was much safer for her to stay at my house for the time being. In the three months since the war she had been recovering steadily. The shifter had insisted that she take an extended leave of absence, but I found she had been visiting Bon Temps almost daily. I was not happy about that, but there was nothing that could be done for it. Her grandmother's home was there, as well as her friends and family.

Victor had been pressuring me more and more about claiming Sookie as an asset of Nevada. I planned to put a stop to that tonight.

I arrived at Fangtasia and greeted Pam on my way to the office. She kissed my cheek and squeezed my arm, but refrained from commenting on tonight's plans. "As soon as she arrives, Pam, bring her to me. We will be leaving shortly after."

I strode into my office and began checking that the flight would be on time. All of my business was rapped up for a few days. I had received permission from Sandy for an extended absence from the state. Everything was in order. My nerves settled as I felt Sookie pull into the parking lot.

My sense of calm quickly became one of apprehension. I realized I was picking up on Sookie's anxiety.

Moments later there was a soft knock on the door and then Pam opened it and scooted Sookie inside. Pam glanced at me, then at Sookie with a puzzled expression, then shrugged her shoulders. "Don't look so happy to see one another," she said dryly. I growled softly and she inclined her head. "Master," she smirked as she backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I crossed the room to my angel. I stood in front of her and leaned down until my lips found hers, ready for a passionate greeting. Her mouth remained closed and her breathing stilled. I could feel the anxiety heighten with a touch of fear behind it all. My own emotions began to take over, anger at the forefront.

"What is this?" I asked as I backed away. She sat down on the couch behind her. "You don't fear me, Sookie. Don't ever fear me." She would not look at me. She searched the room for something to focus on. "You've been to Bon Temps this evening? To see the shifter? I smell him on you." I had hit a nerve as I expected I would. She shot her gaze quickly up to my face.

"And since when do I let you tell me who I may or may not see, Eric Northman? You aren't my father and I'm a grown woman. You aren't even my husband, no matter what your damned ceremonial knife means."

"I'd hoped to change that this evening." I watched the shock and knowledge spread across her face. "Though I'd expected to tell you under happier terms." I crossed my arms and leaned back against the desk. I watched her as she stood up and sat back down several time finally settling on sitting.

"Eric…," Her voice was a whisper. She shut her eyes tightly. "This is not what I wanted." It felt like ice drenching my heart. It hurt most of all because I knew she spoke the truth.

"What do you want? What Sookie? You want to come first? I'm putting you first in every way I know how. You want to be loved and protected? I've loved you more than anything that has existed for me in the last thousand years. You want your freedom? I give you that as long as you can stay out of harm's way. What do you want?" I growled as I leaned forward. I was going on the offensive.

"Love me? Do you? Really? You can't even tell me the truth!" The color in her cheeks was rising with her voice, no longer a whisper. "Where were you? When I needed you, where were you?"

I began to take a step forward. She held up her hand.

"Don't you take one step closer, Northman. I mean it!" She closed her eyes for a few moments as silence flooded the room. "You say you put me first, but it simply isn't true, Eric. No matter how many times you say it or would like to believe it. You love me, it's true, but I'm just not sure anymore…" she couldn't hide it from me, she wasn't being truthful now, she was trying to be spiteful. And it was hurting her.

"Love? Is that the only reason you want to marry me, Eric?"

"If I marry you in a human ceremony, as well as with the knife, and I present you to Felipe and Victor as my wife, you are as good as untouchable to them." I was planning on flying with Sookie to Nevada tonight, and having the marriage performed at Felipe's own hotel. I knew how to send a message. Sookie would, finally and forever, be mine. And with Victor and Felipe there to witness, they would be forced to acknowledge our union.

"So it's about control," her eyes became cold.

"It's about protection, Sookie!"

"It's about power!" she spat back.

"Marry me. Stay with me," I found myself making it more of a command than a request.

"Why should I? We're always fighting." She said it as if it was my intension to fight with her. "You asked what I want, and you're convincing me more each second that it has nothing to do with Vampires – nothing to do with you." She took a deep breath. "You know I've never wanted to leave my home town, but I find I just can't stand to share it with you." Her voice was even now. "There are reasons, Eric, that I'm gonna walk out that door. It has very little to do with tonight, but you've managed to put the cherry on top."

"You have absolutely no sense of self preservation." I watched a tear roll down her cheek.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

As she left the room and I sat back at my desk, I found myself unable to think clearly. The two truthful statements she had made were that she "didn't want this" and that she was leaving Bon Temps. I couldn't understand it. While she had been recovering at my house in Shreveport, we hadn't had much time together. I was dealing with the bar and the consequences of vampire involvement in the fae war. I was away most evenings, and when I was home, I found Sookie to be asleep or ill. I felt her sense of discontent through our bond, but things had begun to get better in the past few weeks.

My phone rang just as I heard Sookie start her car and head out of the parking lot. It was Victor. Rather than answer it, I sent the phone flying across the office, knocking a picture from the wall, shattering both the glass in the frame and the phone itself.

***

I was speeding towards the shifter's backwoods bar in the middle of nowhere. Sookie wasn't at home, and Amelia hadn't seen her since the afternoon. I parked around back and stormed in through the employee entrance.

Sam Merlotte was sitting at his desk with a shocked expression when I appeared in the doorway of his office. Sam and I had seen eye to eye more than once where Sookie was concerned. She could be impulsive, oversensitive and very fickle. I didn't know if Sam would present himself as an ally or an enemy tonight. Neither would surprise me.

"Eric," he addressed me as he leaned forward in his chair. He motioned to a seat next to the door.

"No, thank you. I'll stand. I won't be here long." I was eager to get to my point. "Why is she leaving?"

"That's probably something she should tell you," he ran his fingers back through his hair and let out a long sigh. "She was gonna tell you tonight. Wait, she said she was leaving? She hadn't decided this afternoon." He stood and walked past me to close the door. "Christ. What'd you say to her?"

"I said nothing that is of any importance to you."

"It is important, goddamnit, if she's leavin'!" Sam slammed his hand into the wall. "Well, did she say where to? So help me God, if she doesn't come back, Eric!"

"You aren't being helpful," I growled at him. "She did not tell me where she was going or why. She was not at my home in Shreveport or at her home here. She packed her bags before she came to Fangtasia tonight. You know something. I need to know."

"No." He stood up and pointed to the door. "Get out. If she didn't tell you, you don't kneed to know."

Rage flashed through my mind. If he thought he knew what was best for Sookie because she had confided in him, I'd tear him limb from furry limb. But it would do nothing to bring Sookie back to me.

"Watch what you say, shifter," I showed him my fangs. "I'm in no mood for your arrogance. I will find her." I turned to open the door.

"What if she doesn't wanna be found?"

***

I spent the next month searching. I called old high school classmates. Nothing. I called her worthless brother – he knew nothing, and blamed me for her leaving. That was the general consensus. I tracked down her young cousin, Hunter. His father had seen her briefly one afternoon, weeks before she disappeared. She had come to tell him goodbye. He knew nothing. Bill and Pam helped me search for weeks. Pam would not give up until I did. Bill was upset and became reclusive. He blamed me more than the rest of them.

I finally convinced myself that if she was in danger, I would know it. She had been gone six weeks and still no news.

Every day I felt our bond growing weaker. I had to assume that she really did want nothing more to do with me. That she really was gone. Then I let my anger consume me.

***

I sat back on the floor, leaning against my bed. I had a small blue box in my hand, and a small diamond ring on the tip of my ring finger. I had purchased the ring the night Sookie had brought me the knife. She had never worn it, never even seen it. It was a platinum band with a brilliant cut canary diamond that was surrounded by a circlet of smaller white diamonds. The setting was low profile – simple but elegant. I knew she wouldn't want anything extravagant. I had kept it with me for forty years, along with her quilt and a lock of her golden curls.

Her actions made more sense to me now, but the pain of knowing there was nothing I could do to change it, ate away at me every day.

I listened in silence as the words of _Jambi_ began to play through the speakers in the background:

_So if I could I'd wish it all away,  
If I thought tomorrow  
Would take you away.  
You're my peace of mind, my home, my center.  
I'm just trying to hold on  
One more day_

I realized that I had been doing my self-sentenced penance for the better part of half a century. Why, now was I remembering with such vivid accuracy? I felt the tears begin to fall. They were tears that I could not shed for her until now. And she was truly gone.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient and for your thoughts for my family. It's been a rough few weeks, but I'm going to make things work. I don't have anywhere to go but forward.

This chapter is mostly Eric POV with a little bit of Devon thrown into the middle. Sorry for those of you who aren't music junkies like myself and Eric, but I've used some more of my favorite songs in this chapter. The are, in order of appearance: All tracks from Iron and Wine's _Shepherd's Dog_, _Say It To Me Now_ and _Lies_ by Glen Hansard, _Club Thing _by Yoav, _I Am In Love With You_ by Imogene Heap, _The Hollow (Constantly Consuming)_ and _Passive_ by A Perfect Circle.

It took me a long time to write this due to procrastination. I've got to write some tough stuff after this chapter, but I'll try to keep things coming for you on a regular basis.

BTW: See if you can catch my homage to _The Time Traveler's Wife, _which is an exceptional book!

Enjoy ;)

******

All night past and I had not heard from Devon. I made a few phone calls to the club to check on some things. I had planned to spend time with Devon at the house tonight, cooking her birthday dinner and giving her a present. I had purchased her a dress to wear to tomorrow night's Grand Re-Opening of La Zona Rosa. Though we were technically off work this week, as I was responsible for keeping the business open, I was expected to make an appearance. The club had re-opened over a month ago, though the celebration had been scheduled for tomorrow night.

I paced in front of the couch for several minutes as my mind writhed with frustration. Frustration over the unknown. What was Devon? Where was she? What was she doing and who was she with? And what was I to her? Over the last few months I had compiled a file on Devon. It consisted of everything from a list of things that triggered her ability, to her high school records, when she had last filed her taxes, to her Irish passport. The latest information I had gathered had been on her Father. Without the resources that had been available to me as Sheriff, things were going slowly, but I _would_ find out where the girl came from.

I made my way back upstairs and sat back at my desk. I unlocked the top drawer and pulled her file. Her father's name was William Samuel Blair. Billy Blair was a bright young man who had grown up in Lucan Ireland, with his father. His mother, Eden Blair, was Irish, and had moved to Texas in her early twenties. She lived in Orange, Texas with his father and, though they never married, she soon became pregnant with Billy. Eden had died of complications of a placental abruption in her third trimester of pregnancy and Billy had been born prematurely. His father relocated to Ireland so that Billy would grow up close to family.

When Billy was in his mid twenties, he accepted a job teaching at Trinity University in Dublin. There he met Sidah Murphy, his TA. They married within a month of meeting. Once again, there were complications with the pregnancy and Devonee was born at 31 weeks. Billy was distraught and moved back to Lucan to live with his father. As the years progressed he began to fall deeper into depression and addiction. When Devonee was eleven years old, her grandfather thought a change of scenery would do them good, and they returned to live in Texas.

There wasn't much information after that. When I had begun looking into Devon's grandmother, I could find nothing. I sought out some old contacts of mine and asked them to inquire in the fae community. My hunch was right. Eden Blair was one of the few fairies left in the world after they closed the gateway. Her presence was intoxicating to all human men, and her son had inherited her charisma – no doubt having something to do with his shortened engagement.

I was still looking into the histories of Devon's mother and grandfather. They promised to be ordinary, despite my hopes for discovering something deeper.

I looked over at the clock. 3 AM. All this time I hadn't called her, hoping she would return soon, or call me herself. Just then I heard the SUV pull up the drive. I placed the file back into the drawer and locked it. I grabbed a Zone t-shirt and pulled it on. I then bundled up the quilt from the floor and grabbed the ring box and shoved it into my jeans pocket on my way down the stairs. I sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of blood and waited for Devon to come through the door.

She entered from the garage, softly closing the door behind her. As she turned around, I saw the tears on her cheeks. She smiled weakly at me as she passed the kitchen table on her way to her bedroom. I watched her walk away from me, knowing that she was distancing herself out of grief.

***

I left Devon to herself for a while. I paced around the great room for a few moments. I took the quilt and shook it out, smoothed the fabric and gently folded it. I placed it back on the couch. It no longer smelled of the house on Hummingbird Rd – no longer smelled of the telepath, of coffee and bacon and sunlight. It smelled of old blood and tears. It was inconsequential, a remnant the past. Her past.

With that thought I retreated upstairs where I could turn my focus to tomorrow night's events. I stood before my wardrobe and selected my attire for the next evening. I chose a pair of slim, dark blue jeans, black cowboy boots, and a deep burgundy sports jacket. I would wear a vintage La Zona Rosa t-shirt in homage to where the bar had come from. I would speak of where it was headed. It would be poetic, but not too deep. It would be followed by some drum and bass beat the patrons would writhe and dance to.

I laid the clothing over the back of my desk chair, turned and went to take a shower. I stayed beneath the stream of warm water only long enough to get clean. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I returned to my desk and set before my computer for a few moments.

I opened my browser and began an e-mail:

_Pam,_

_Things are going well with the Elephant Room. The Zone re-opening celebration takes place tomorrow evening. It is a shame you will miss it. I do know how you love to "bump and grind". _

_Give my regards to Sandy. _

It is never wise to burn bridges. I continue:

_I am considering taking on a small account in Houston. I will be in touch as things progress._

_I miss you, too, Pam_

I watch my cursor blinking behind her name. My hand hovers above the keys for a moment before I delete the last line of text.

_Be well._

_-E_

I send the e-mail.

As I stand I stretch and glance out the window. The silver edges of dawn are just beginning to encroach on the darkness. I walk to the edge of the bed and drop the towel on the floor as I slide beneath the covers. Sleep has been joining me more reluctantly, and I lie in bed starring out the window at the approaching day.

I allow myself to stretch once more and close my eyes.

I hear bare footsteps on the stairs and I inhale deeply. Devon stands at the top of the steps for a few moments before walking further into my dim bedroom. She walks toward the bed and looks down on my sleeping form. I feel her slide into bed next to me. Her cheeks are wet with tears as she buries her face in my shoulder. She thinks I am sleeping for the day as she whispers to the empty house. "I tried to tell him about the baby," she is practically sobbing. "I don't know why, I just couldn't. He's my best friend and he doesn't know. Nobody knows. I feel so alone."

***

I awake with her next to me, still in her jeans and sweater from yesterday. She's breathing heavily as she sleeps and I reach to the floor for a pair of boxers. As I pull them on, I step to the window and see that the ice has melted and there is only a faint frost covering small isolated patches of ground as the sun is setting in the west.

I turn and look at the child sleeping in my bed. She is fragile by her very nature and humanity, but she is strong as well. I dress and retrieve her birthday gift from my wardrobe. It is folded and wrapped in blue and silver tissue with a black silk ribbon tied around it. I place it on her bed on my way to the kitchen. As I open the refrigerator and reach for a blood, I glance at the food sitting on the shelf. The shrimp, yogurt, coconut milk and other ingredients needed to make her birthday curry remain untouched. I grab a garbage bag from the pantry and scoop all of the food out into the trash.

I look at my pocket watch and decide to go awaken Devon. No doubt she will want a cup of coffee before preparing for the evening. I finish my first blood and open another bottle as I wait for the coffee to brew.

Moments later I head up the stairs with a steaming cup of Dunken Donuts hazelnut in one hand and a True Blood in the other. I set the coffee on my bedside table near her head and turn on a light. As I walk to my desk and take a seat in my chair I hear a muffled moan. "Good evening," I venture, a little too loudly.

"I need some…coffee?" she lifts her head and sniffs the air. "Oh, you're a prince," she sighs and reaches for the cup. She takes a sip, takes another, and squints across the room in my direction. "Music?" she croaks.

I reach for the remote and begin playing _The Shepherd's Dog_ album. Soft music with good energy. I stand and make my way to the bathroom, pausing at the door.

"You're going tonight?" I ask. She looks confused. "The Zone. Tonight."

"Ah. Non-work work. Why not?" she smiles weakly. "How much time?"

"An hour."

"It's a date," she throws the covers off and heads downstairs. I turn back to the bathroom and head for the shower.

***

Downstairs, I gulp down the dregs of my coffee, pour another cup and make some toast, all while considering what the hell I'm supposed to wear tonight. It's warmed up quite a bit since yesterday, rising from the low twenties to the upper fifties, in classic Texas weather fashion.

I decide I don't have time for a shower so I settle with a good teeth brushing and wash my face in the hall bathroom. Once I've determined my hair will be manageable with the help of some detangler, I cross the hall to my bedroom in search of a suitable dress. I'm so frazzled and fuzzy from sleeping all day, I almost miss the package sitting on the edge of my bed.

There is a note on top in Eric's careful script:

_To match your golden eyes. Please wear this tonight._

_Happy Birthday,_

_-E_

I smile as I tear away the layers of blue and silver tissue paper. Beneath is delicate brown cotton, shot through with gold thread. The cut is simple, calf length, strapless, empire waist, classic. As I pick up the dress, another tissue wrapped package falls to the bed. I unfold the tissue to find a pair of briolette, smoky topaz and white gold, drop earrings.

Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed and have rearranged my tangled curls as artfully as possible. I outlined my eyes in soft black kohl and a light touch of mascara, placed a clear gloss on my lips and slid the earrings into my ears. I grab my trench coat from the closet and a pair of ballet style flats and head out to the great room to wait for Eric.

He's sitting on the sofa, staring out the window wall. A little "oh" of surprise escapes my lips. He looks perfect and sad all at once, sitting alone in the dark. He hears me and turns his head. He's wearing an old, practically vintage, dark grey, La Zona Rosa t-shirt beneath a deep burgundy sport jacket, with dark jeans and cowboy boots.

He immediately embraces his bar manager façade with a gusto only Eric can. All sadness leaves his face and is replaced by an expression of intent, as though he has plans for the way this evening will play out. It's disconcerting to us both that I can see through him so clearly. He's had a long time to practice his "poker face" and I've only been reading him for a few months.

I'm standing about five feet from him and he crosses the distance in what seems like two strides. Maybe he's just moving quickly. I'm still not used to the subtle differences.

He stands in front of me, looking down at me as he places his hand on the small of my back. I look straight ahead as he leans down to my ear.

"Perfect," he whispers, and then kisses my cheek. He takes my coat and places it on my shoulders, offers his arm for support as I slip on my shoes, and leads me out the door to his car.

I huddle in my coat as I wait for the ancient heater to warm up. Before I have a chance to mess with his iPod, he turns on the stereo and I hear the strained vocals of Glen Hanserd as he sings:

"_I'm scratching at the surface now_

_And I'm trying hard to work it out_

_So much has gone misunderstood_

_This mystery only leads to doubt_

_And I didn't understand_

_When you reached out to take my hand_

_And if you have something to say_

_You'd better say it now_

_Cause this is what you've waited for_

_Your chance to even up the score_

_And as these shadows fall on me now_

_I will somehow"_

We are almost to the club before he speaks.

"You are weary." I don't answer him. I'm fucking exhausted. "I have another gift for you." He is silent again and all I hear are the words of the singer:

"_The little cracks they escalated_

_And before you know it is too late_

_For making circles and telling lies"_

We pull up to the back of the club. The line out front zigzags down the street. I can hear the music streaming out the cracks of the building in a surreal sense, enveloping me. I'm not getting enough sleep. I feel high, on uppers and downers, chemically induced by my brain.

I can feel Eric's hand on my shoulder. He's come around to my side of the car and is reaching in to help me out. Tonight I know better than to protest. He's in front of businessmen and peers, human and vampire. I'm just a little girl to them, with a job I surely can't handle. They are still curious why I'm in the Viking Vampire's employ. Pam, they understood, but I don't fit. I never fit.

I let Eric lead me through the door of the club and we enter the main dance floor from behind the bar. I spot the manager, Gregg, across the room next to the stage. He looks up and smiles at Eric and waves to me. I raise my hand in response. Soon the music really hits me. They are playing old music from the bar's prime. The sounds drifting across the wave of bodies is Yoav's _Club Thing_.

By now, Gregg has reached us and steered us through the crowd to a table near the front of the dance floor, by the stage. He says something to Eric and walks backstage. A waitress comes to take our order: Oneg for Eric, lavender tonic for me. Something by Imogene Heap is deafening me and I suddenly have a very bad headache. I lift my head as the music dulls and I hear a taping on a microphone.

Gregg is standing on stage in front of a group of several guys with guitars and a girl on the drums. They are all very clean in dress – black suits, white shirts, red ties, and the girl is wearing a black tube dress and red scarf – but covered in tattoos and piercings. Gregg clears his throat and I think I can _feel_ Eric grimace in his seat next to me.

"This evening we have the pleasure of experiencing an Austin original. Up and coming band, Chrono-Displaced Persons!" Gregg is momentarily drown out by applause. "As an additional honor this evening, we are going to hear at least one song – At least one, Eric! – performed by our honored guest, Mr. Eric Northman!"

My jaw drops. I mean, as long as I've known him, Eric has always been kind of a music nut, but I've never heard him sing. I glance from the stage to Eric and back. A tall, dark haired kid, about my age, steps back from the mic and motions for Eric to take his place. Before I have a chance to blink, he's on stage, conferring with each guitarist. Then he walks to the little-drummer-girl, leans down to whisper something in her ear, and kisses her cheek.

And they're playing. And he's singing. Singing.

"_Run, desire run_

_The sexual being_

_Run him like a blade_

_To and through the heart_

_No conscience_

_One motive_

_To cater to the hollow_

_Screaming feed me here_

_Fill me up again_

_Temporarily pacify this hungering_

_So grow_

_Libido throw_

_Dominoes of indiscretions down_

_Falling all around_

_In cycles_

_In circles_

_Constantly consuming_

_Conquer and devour"_

When the song was over and Eric waded back through the crowd to the table I was almost gone. My head was hurting so terribly I thought it was going to split in two. I thought I was going to split in two. The band took their cue from Eric and continued to play another Perfect Circle song. Eric took one look at me and we were headed to the back and Gregg's office.

He sat me down in a club chair in the corner of the dark room and closed the door. The noise was muffled, but I could hear the bass coming through the walls and through my head. I could feel him kneeling in front of me. I could see his golden hair shimmering in the hazy, dim light of the room, but I couldn't quite understand what was going on. Then it hit me. I've done this before. I'm going to pass out. As I begin to drift, I hear a line from _Passive_ float through my consciousness. Maynard sings – no it's the kid, tall with black hair – sings: _"Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic…"_ and everything goes dark.

***

I know exhaustion has finally taken over her body. Her breath and pulse are steady, she even snores a little. She fell into my arms and I have lain her down on the floor next to me. Gregg comes in to check that everything is kosher. _No I'm not feeding, you moron._ I have him find her coat, take it to the car and pull it up to the back entrance for me. I take my coat off and wrap it around her shoulders, lift her in my arms, and carry her out the back of the club.

It is a short and quiet ride home. I gently nudge her awake as we pull into the driveway. "Mmm." She sighs and flutters her eyes open.

"You must wake. We have things to talk about." I help her stand and steady her by placing my arm around her waist as we walk up the steps to the house. I bypass the couch, her bedroom, and head to the stairs with her nearly limp frame leaning on me. At the bottom of the stairs, she silently relents and lets me pick her up and carry her up to my bed.

I sit her down on the edge of the mattress and kneel to remove her shoes. She is still wrapped in my jacket and is attempting to shrug out of it at the moment. I reach up and help her pull her arms free of the sleeves. She is still breathing heavily, staring down at me. Her face is framed by a soft light from the bathroom behind her and a mass of unruly brown curls trailing almost to her waist. I realize, once again, that she is beautiful.

"What?" she sniffs with an urgency that seems foreign to our circumstance. It succeeds in pulling me back from my trance.

"You are weary," I say as I lift myself up to sit beside her. I pull her onto my lap and she looks back at me, tired and confused. "Let me give you a gift." I punctured my left wrist and held it out, close to her lips. I do not want to glamour her, but I will if I must. It is for her own good.

She blinks once, closes her eyes, and puts her lips to my wrist and drinks. When my wrist begins to heal I remove it from her lips and kiss her mouth clean. She looks up at me, her eyes brighter. I lean us both back onto the bed and she curls into me.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I hush her and tell her to sleep and she is drifting away within seconds.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So we reveal a big part of Devon's history here. POV Devon/Eric. And the use of the most awesome song, _Tiny Vessels_ by Death Cab For Cutie.

Hope you enjoy and have a great weekend!

***

Much of my new life transitioned in a blur. The days passed quickly as I learned to accept the newness, the sharpness of everything. I spent my days in death-sleep, next to Eric; in his big bed; in his cozy room; in a little house in the woods; far off the main road; just outside of Shreveport. More times than not, I would wake up alone in his bed, not remembering how I'd gotten there or what I now was. I felt alone, then. Eric explained that age has allowed him to rise earlier and expire later. As it is, my life is spent in total darkness.

I've not left the house for days. I spent the first seventy-two hours in Eric's bed. I've had little trouble with the diet, though. I thought it would turn my stomach at first, but necessity and hunger won out over preconceptions about blood as sustenance. I prefer A positive. Work was left on hold for about five days, then back to the conference calls and invoicing, travel arrangements, and so forth. I find myself more efficient now. I've managed to read about half of the books on one of Eric's multitude of bookshelves. He's got quite a collection – J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin, Gregory McGuire, Anne Rice and Stephenie Meyer (haha). Nietzsche, Rilke, Faust, Machiavelli (of course). Edgar Cayce, Barbra Brennan, Brian Weiss, Carl Jung. Capote, John Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Emerson and Thoreau. And that's just scratching the surface.

I ran across a book called _Through Moonlight Eyes_ by a woman named Chase Christian. She was turned at nineteen years old back in 1991 and had written an account of a young woman coping with her new life as a vampire. It was published a few years after the Great Revelation and had helped humans begin to identify with the human element in what was then a new and frightening race. It had become somewhat of a cult classic in vampire literature, and was compared to human love stories like _The Notebook_, _P.S. I Love You_, and _The Time Traveler's Wife_.

I sat with the book open in my lap as I stared out of the window at the moonlight turning the clouds a woeful shade of silver-grey. We would land in Houston in about twenty-five minutes. Eric was sitting across the cabin with his laptop in his lap. He had on light blue jeans and a dark grey t-shit, and was seated cross-legged with his bare feet curled under him. He barely fit in the cabin's modest recliner and made it look like awkward child-sized furniture by comparison.

Eric had a modest loft converted for vampire specific needs last year when he bought into the club in Houston. It was a small, two bedroom, one bath in an old commercial building on Montrose near Rice University.

"It'll be raining when we land," he informs me from across the cabin. As if in confirmation, the plane jerks slightly up and to the left as the pilot informs us that there will be turbulence for the remainder of the flight.

"Hurricane season," I reply as I look back over my page, scanning to find my place. I find all I can think about is the sticky humidity that awaits us at the terminal at Bush-Intercontinental. I remember the notable change as I stepped out of Eric's car after the three-hour drive from Austin last year.

***

"This looks practically quaint," I hear Eric mutter as he pulls into an underground garage at around midnight on a Sunday night in late September. I yawn and stretch, cringing as my neck catches. I've been curled up asleep in the passenger's seat for the last hour of the trip. Eric drove straight through from Austin to our new loft in downtown Houston. It's already been converted for vampire living, decorated, furnished and even stocked with True Blood. I can't wait for him to park the car so I can get out and stretch.

The garage is dimly lit and has a kind of creepy, subterranean feel to it. Where are all the bats? Finally Eric locates the spaces that correspond with our address and pulls his beloved Astin Martin into the tiny hole.

I am completely unprepared for what hits me as I open my door. I'm assaulted by air thickened by heat and humidity. It's like I've just stepped into a wall of warm water. I knew to expect a warmer, more humid climate, but this is just ridiculous. It's midnight and still probably ninety degrees, _underground._ I felt like I might as well have gotten out in the torrential rains we left on the street level.

I can hear Eric chuckle as he removes our bags from the trunk. "Welcome to Houston."

I reach for my duffle bag as Eric maneuvers our two suitcases and his own duffle bag toward the elevators. We ride up nine floors – two in the garage and seven to our apartment. There are four units per level. I've seen pictures of the work that has been done to the space, but, for the second time tonight, I'm taken by surprise.

As we walk through the door I take in the simple beauty that encompasses me. Dark stained hardwood floors and exposed brick walls, and directly ahead, a wall of yellowish-brown windows – vampire safe. On the left wall is a large brick fireplace with a TV screen mounted above the mantle. In the center of the room sits a dark grey, tweed sofa, with a small teak dinning table pushed against it's back and flanked by matching chairs. A large canvas is hung on the right wall, drenched in black and grey paint running and mingling to the bottom. Directly to my right is a small kitchen, boasting the bare essentials – fridge, stove, oven, sink, and of course, a microwave. The appliances are vintage, the cabinets are cherry, and the countertops are concrete. Around the corner from the kitchen is the bathroom – small, but luxurious. It had the biggest basin tub I'd ever seen and an old-fashioned shower spout sprouting from the floor next to it. A metal spiral staircase leads up to an L shaped loft containing two identical bedrooms. Each contained a small closet, a lush pallet bed and an architectural paper pendant light. One was decorated in shades of white, cream and ice blue linens, the other in shades of grey, brown and black. I dropped my bag on the floor in the blue room and collapsed on the bed.

My eyes are closed as I sink into the soft sheets, and I feel Eric sit down next to me. I open my eyes and look at him sitting on the corner of the bed with his back to me. I know he's feeling something in me that really makes him uncomfortable. We have more in common than he would like me to know. I'll find out in time. For now I'm just thankful for the distraction of being in a new place. I sit up and rest my hand on Eric's back. I can feel the coolness of him through his t-shirt. He turns to look at me.

"You haven't been sleeping again," he accuses. The shitty thing is, he's right. I don't want to dream. I stay up for days on end, as long as I can stand it, so that when sleep finally takes me, I'm too tired to dream.

"I sleep."

"Bullshit, Dev," he uses my nickname, the one only he calls me. "You wouldn't function if not for my blood and copious amounts of caffeine. You are losing weight, you are not well."

"So, give me some more," I say and reach for his wrist, smiling. He's quicker and grabs my arm. He actually looks upset with me. Eric is not one to temper his emotions, and I've cringed while listening to his wrath directed at others. I'm in no state of mind to withstand his kind of arsenal. But I know what he's thinking behind his ice-cold eyes, his mouth pulled into a tight line. We've had this discussion before. I've become dependant on his blood to propel me through my days these past few months. I've only had him three times, but he's afraid that's too much.

His grip on my arm is getting tighter and it's starting to hurt. I'll be bruised tomorrow. I know he isn't asking why I'm not sleeping because he doesn't want to hear it. He knows why. That doesn't mean it can just be fixed with time and distractions. I'm beginning to figure this out for myself.

I search his face for some sign that he'll either let go of my arm or unleash on me. Neither happens. He stands, pulls me to my feet and drags me to the window. I'm inches from the glass and he stands behind me holding me in place by my shoulders.

"Is you're human life really so dull that you would risk losing it to me in exchange for my blood? You may not appreciate the long term effects," he growls in my ear.

I watched the water running down the windowpane in front of me. The night glowed with lights from the city, twinkling in the rainfall. He really didn't know that, for me, life was just a mater of existing. I let out a long, heavy sigh and shut my eyes. It was the last time I would ask for Eric's blood.

***

"Then go," she whispers. I release my grip and she drops to her knees in front of the window. I leave her alone as I cross the hall to my bedroom. It is still early in the evening, not even two o'clock yet. I transfer my clothing from suitcase to closet, set up my laptop to charge, grab phone and keys, and head out the door.

I exit the parking garage onto Montrose and into the rain. It has slackened some as I drive down past Richmond and take a left onto Westheimer. I make my way past shops and restaurants, all closed for the evening. There are a few all night diners scattered here and there, a 24 hr. Starbucks, and a bar that catches my eye. I park and make my way up to the door, where I am carded. My fangs run out, that should be sufficient enough proof of age. As I pass the woman at the door and enter the establishment I glance at the graffiti adorning the front window that says, simply, "kinda open". There are several large chalkboards and cardboard signs scattered throughout the main room that read, "Drink like an Adult." The place is called Poison Girl. It's fairly quiet for a bar of its size, and I wonder if it is due to the fact that it's a Sunday night, or if the business needs a turnaround. I take my seat at the bar and order an A negative. The bartender – Blu is his name – raises his eyebrows and pops a bottle of blood in the microwave below the bar.

After a few sips and a quick survey of my surroundings, I take out my PDA. I need something to take my mind off of Devon. I shouldn't be thinking of her sitting on the floor, staring out at the rain, alone. She told me to go. I flip through the emails in my inbox – Pam sends her regards from Washington. She has some business there with a Louisiana congressman. There have been a few e-mails from Felicia complaining that Fangtasia needs a full time bar manager since Pam has been otherwise detained. I'll have to speak to Pam about neglecting responsibilities.

Then I read the subject of my next e-mail:

_Sam Merlotte + Billy Blair?_

I had hired a VPI out of Austin, named Carlos Diego, to gather what information he could concerning Devon. So far his level of discretion was incomparable, and he had consistently delivered thorough and accurate information. I opened the message and began reading:

_Mr. Northamn, _

_I am still organizing my information on Devonee Blair's mother, Sidah Murphy. There is not much, but from what I can tell, she was not a member of the Supe community. Her background has, thus far, proven to be less than spectacular. _

_Devonee's grandfather, on the other hand, has sparked my interest. I began by backtracking Ms. Eden Blair's financial records. Because she was never legally married to Billy's father, there wasn't much to go on. I was able to locate a bank loan taken out in the name of Eden Blair, used to purchase a town home in Orange, Texas. Listed as a cosigner was the name Samuel Merlotte. I then used Mr. Merlotte's social security number to begin my investigation. _

_Mr. Merlotte was born in Beaumont, Texas in 1970. Not much is documented about his early life, but eventually he turns up in Bon Temps, Louisiana, owning and running a bar. That is what sparked my interest, as I know that you were Sheriff of that area for some time. He was also an active member of the revelation of the shifter community in area 5. It seams that in 2008, Mr. Merlotte sold his bar and relocated to Orange, Texas, about twenty minutes outside of Beaumont, to be closer to his mother, whose health was deteriorating. She passed away shortly after that and he met Eden Blair. They purchased a town home together, which he later sold after her subsequent death in 2009, due to complications of her pregnancy. William Samuel Blair was named after his father and a close friend of Mr. Merlotte and Ms. Blair, a Mr. William Compton. I am also aware of your connection to Mr. Compton. It seems like too much to be a coincidence, though, I suppose that stranger things have happened._

_I will further outline this information and attach copies of documentation in a later e-mail. _

_Please have a pleasant evening,_

_Carlos Diego, VPI_

_Ste 6110 5408 Shoal Creek Blvd _

_Austin, TX_

_512.393.0982_

I sat for a few moments, staring at the screen on my phone. I began thinking back over what I knew about Sam Merlotte. I hadn't kept in close touch after Sookie… I knew he had left the area. He sold the bar and was no longer any of my concern.

Bill had requested to leave Area 5 for Area 2 in east Texas several years before – not long after Sookie left. For a few months I entertained the notion that he and Sookie were living together in Texas. I never could confirm anything, and Bill was very distraught over her disappearance; soon I realized I was grasping at straws.

I wasn't even aware if Sam was still alive. I couldn't remember Devon saying much about her grandfather. He was American, from the south. He owned and operated a small pub in Lucan. He had a blue merle border collie that died when Devon was seven or eight years old. He had moved the family back to Texas nine years ago. Beyond that, she hadn't mentioned much, other than to say that the smell of scotch reminded her of his pub. Scotch was her drink of choice.

Did she know that he was from Bon Temps? Did she know about his connection to a barmaid named Sookie Stackhouse? I had never mentioned Bon Temps or Sookie to Devon. That was a part of my life that I had left far behind me. By choice.

I stood and paid for my blood. I hadn't finished it. I exited the bar and made my way to the parking lot. The rain had stopped but the air held the moisture close to my skin. Everything smelled wet and the streets sparkled with the reflections of the traffic lights. I made my way down Westheimer and back to Montrose.

I looked at my pocket watch as I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor. It was 3:03. I knew that we had a meeting with the people from Dirt Bar tomorrow night. Devon should be sleeping. I stood outside the door, listening closely.

"_Thanks Ali. Can you put Joss on?... Oh if he's asleep that's ok… No. Tomorrow… Ok, I'll let you guys know… Thanks." _She pauses. _"Hey, handsome… Oh you know… No, I just needed a friendly voice… I'm ok… Fuck off, I really am ok. So, Alison, huh?... Well, I knew you were screwing, I just didn't know you were living together… Oh, come on. I didn't mean anything… Sorry." _Another long pause. _"Well, then go back to sleep!… Not any more than usual. About four hours, I guess… Yeah, I know. I'll call you later in the week… Love you too."_

I put the key in the lock and enter the loft. I leave my keys on the table, remove my shoes by the door and head up the spiral staircase. I stop in front of Devon's door. She lies on her bed with her back to me, the light turned low. I hear music playing softly in her room.

_Tiny vessels oozed into your neck_

_And formed the bruises_

_That you said you didn't want to fade_

_But they did, and so did I that day_

_All I see are dark Grey clouds_

_In the distance moving closer with every hour_

_So when you ask "Is something wrong?"_

_I think "You're damn right there is but we can't talk about it now._

I know she isn't sleeping, and she knows I'm watching her. Neither of us speaks. I want to take her in my arms and bring her into my room, into my bed… but I can't bring myself to it. I am still too livid over our argument, and I am rattled about Sam. Sam. Shifter. I turn and walk across the hall to my bedroom. I close the door softly behind me and begin to sort through the knowledge I have gathered on Devonee Blair.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Music used in this chapter, respectively: The album _For Emma, Forever Ago_ by Bon Iver, _Your Hand in Mine_ by Explosions in The Sky, _Earth To Bella (Part1)_ by Incubus, _Auto Rock by Mogwai_, and _With Every Light_ by The Smashing Pumpkins. (I have fixed a few chronological discrepancies)

********

Before retiring for the day I left a detailed note for Devon, outlining what I would require for our meeting at Dirt Bar the following evening. I folded the note and placed it on top of a small jewelry box on the dinning table. Inside was a simple 18-inch, white gold chain. I had been meaning to give it to her for the past six weeks, but an opportunity never arose.

I walked back up the stairs and stood outside her bedroom door. I could smell the faint scent of scotch coming from her room. Her breathing was slow, deep and even. She was sleeping. Good. I turned and entered my own bedroom. The dawn was fast approaching as I stood staring out the light proof glass, though you wouldn't know it. The rain began again about an hour ago. The clouds had a soft eerie glow to them and the eves of the building dripped steadily. It was no comparison to the torrent we had arrived in, though it showed no sign of letting up either.

I had had much to think about this night. I had gone over all the digital records I had gathered on Dev's genealogy to this point. Until I had connected her with Sam, there was absolutely no mention of Bon Temps. Carlos had sent me several loan documents, a copy of the sale documentation of Merlotte's Bar and Grill, and several other legal documents. There was also a scanned photograph of a much older Sam Merlotte, standing between a tired, underweight, dark haired man, and a gangly, pale skinny looking young girl, with wavy brown hair and golden eyes. There was a blue and white border collie under Devon's hands, and a brick façade in the background. You could make out the letters "ckhouse Pub" in the window behind Sam. The caption at the bottom read, "Billy Blair, Sam Merlotte, Devonee Blair, and Moonshine the dog in front of Stackhouse Pub, Lucan, Ireland, 2038". There was a scan of another Sam, much the same as the last time I saw him – a little more grey in his hair – standing next to an extremely petite, beautiful young girl. She was delicate in feature, pale as moonlight, with dark brown curls brushing her shoulders, and piercing golden eyes. This caption read, "Sam Merlotte and Eden Blair, outside their new home in Orange, Texas, 2009. Four months pregnant. Photographed by Bill." According to Carlos, the captions had been scrawled by hand on the back of the photographs. No doubt by Sam.

In several days I would begin my task of searching for Sam. I wasn't sure if he was still alive, but I had questions that he could answer. Though I had theories of my own on Devon's abilities.

I sat back on the bed and removed my boots and blue jeans. I slid beneath my covers, still wearing boxers and t-shirt, impatiently waiting for sleep to take me.

***

I lay awake watching headlights reflecting across the walls of my room; taking in the sounds and smells coming from downstairs. Butter, soy, eggplant being sliced. Snapped snow peas and chopped onions. Perfume – Be Delicious; lipstick. Coffee steeping, and blood - AB positive - warming in the microwave. The sounds of Bon Iver drifting softly up to the loft.

I stood up and reached to the floor for my jeans from last night, pulled them on and headed to the door. I stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down at her, moving around the kitchen. I watched her as she poured her coffee, filled her plate with rice and vegetables, and set down at the table. She glanced up at me before sitting down.

"There's a blood for you in the microwave," she spoke very softly.

I took the steps slowly as I breathed in the food-blood-perfume-coffee smell that had permeated the loft. I watched her as I walked downstairs. She was wearing a short, light blue cotton tube dress with an elastic waist, and a lightweight black knit blazer. I noticed the topaz earrings in her ears and the white gold chain hanging delicately around her neck.

I walked to the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of warm blood, then sat down at the table across from Devon. She had several files placed before her, next to her plate. She ate a few more small bites before she pushed her plate aside and reached for the papers.

"These are the proposed terms of agreement that their attorneys sent over this morning. I highlighted the discrepancies from our original proposal. Really, they just…" she looked up and realized that I was staring at her. "Well, see for yourself." She pushed the folder towards me and began clearing her dishes.

"Oh, another thing," she said over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen. "They asked to move the meeting forward till 10:30 instead of 12."

"And you told them…?" I tried to keep the irritation from my voice.

"That they would have to wait for your answer and they weren't likely to get much notice either way. That they should have contacted us last night or sooner." She dropped her fork in the sink and it clattered noisily. She came to lean on the back of the couch next to my chair. "See there, and there," she leaned over my shoulder pointing to the changes in the document. "But that's really minor and we could change the wording there…" she stopped and let her hand rest on my shoulder.

"Yes I'll handle the details. This looks agreeable." I close the folder and sip my blood. "Hopefully the evening progresses quickly and without incident." She absently runs her fingers through the ends of my hair, and then quickly pulls her hand back. I inhale deeply. "Yes, we will meet early."

"I'll call them," she stands with her phone already pressed to her ear. "You should go get ready. I'll get the – Yes, hello, Rachael. This is Devonee Blair," she motions me upstairs, and continues conversing with the woman on the other end of the line.

An hour later I had made the necessary changes to the proposal and dressed. Devon stood at the back of the loft drinking coffee, looking out the window at the lights reflecting off the wet pavement of Montrose Blvd.

I moved quickly down the stairs and to her side, handing her the amended documents. Still watching the street outside, she reached her hand out for them without missing a beat. She bent down and placed them inside a folder, inside her briefcase. "Ready?" she asked me as she placed the strap across her shoulder. I nodded and followed her out the door.

***

After the meeting, we decide to go to a little all night Indian diner Eric knows, to celebrate. I'ts called Indika. We parked the car in a garage a few blocks away and we are walking the rest of the way. I have to say, I'm not really nervous walking in downtown Houston, past midnight, with Eric. He hadn't said much other than 'shop talk' since we left the loft this evening. I looked up at him walking next to me. He wore a very nicely cut pair of dress slacks and a long sleeved, white t-shirt. He'd left it out of his slacks and shoved the sleeves up to his elbows. To those who were out walking around, we probably looked like an average young couple in their twenties. How wrong that thought is. For one, Eric is about 12 centuries older than me, though he looks about 28. Secondly, couple is not the word I would use to describe our relationship. We had had a lapse in judgment once and never spoken of it again. That was almost seven months ago, now. He hadn't done anything to make me think he wanted it to happen again.

I realized how lost I was in my thoughts when Eric lightly placed his hand on my back to get my attention before I walked out into the street. I could see Indika across the intersection. I stop walking but Eric leaves his hand there, resting on the small of my back. All of a sudden, it hits me. Eric isn't extremely fond of synthetic blood versus the real deal, and he's told me as much. And I've never known a guy to willingly go without sex for seven months. I suddenly start to wonder what he does in his private time. Not that it's any of my business, that is. I shake my head slightly as I stand there next to him, and he looks down at me.

"Are you cold?" he asks, genuinely concerned. The rain had stopped earlier this evening and we were beginning to feel the effects of a cool front following in its wake. It was pleasant. I wasn't cold. I shook my head. "Tired? We can return to the loft, if you wish."

"No," I smile weakly. "I've been looking forward to my curry fix."

The signal changed and, with his hand still on my back, Eric directed me into the little restaurant. It was a turn of the century breakfast diner, converted into a curry house. Dimly lit and warm, the walls were tiled in shades of blue and grey and green. It had a concrete floor with worn wooden tables and cozy little booths scattered around. Eric steered me to a booth and slid in across from me. Other than wait staff and a couple of college kids with their electronic textbooks, we were the only ones here.

The waiter came by and Eric ordered for us. O negative, Rogan Josh, naan and jasmine tea. I sat and listened to the music that was playing as he spoke to the waiter. I recognized the end of _Your Hand in Mine_ before Brandon Boyd starts singing _Earth to Bella._

I sat and sipped my tea and he sipped his blood as we discussed our time frame for the take over. We would be finished and ready to re-open in just under a month if everything went smoothly. The previous owners retained a 30% interest in the bar. The name would remain the Dirt Bar, since it had been so well known in the area for such a long time. New furniture and fixtures would be brought in, and some new staff members. Eric would have to find a bar manager to handle things while he is elsewhere. All in all things went very well with the deal and we could be leaving in as little as two months. I heard CDP come on the radio and I smiled as I remembered Eric on stage singing _The Hollow_.

It would be good to get back to Austin, see Joss and Ali. Eric said something about my necklace and I slammed back to the here and now. I lifted my eyes to look at him and he must have realized I wasn't paying attention.

"I said that that chain looks beautiful around your neck."

"Thank you for the jewelry, Eric, but I certainly didn't do anything to deserve it," I twist the smooth box chain between my fingertips and look back into my tea cup.

"You improve upon its beauty, and that is enough," he says softly. "I meant to give it to you last month. It would have been a year since you began working for me."

"And Pam," I say as the waiter places my curry down in front of me. "How is Pam? I haven't heard from her in a few weeks. Busy in Washington?" I sank my teeth into the first bite of curry, still steaming and smelling heavenly.

Eric motioned for another blood and the waiter hurried back to the kitchen. He was silent as he drained the last of the bottle. I took the opportunity to enjoy my lamb. I swirled the soft naan around in the liquid and took a bite. How could anyone live without Indian food? I heard Eric clear his throat to get my attention.

"Pam remains in Washington. There have been issues with the management at Fangtasia. After my business here is concluded, I will have to make a trip to Shreveport to take care of some things. I know you were looking forward to going back to Austin, but there are suitable accommodations for us both…" he stopped as I laid my fork down on my plate, a little forcefully. I looked at him, not hiding the frustration from my face. He met my eyes and continued, "It should only take a few weeks, though I'm convinced that should matter." I knew what he meant. _It's your job, Dev. A job you like. You're a big girl, deal with it_. He was right.

We finished our meals in silence and he offered his hand to help me out of the booth before we left the diner for the car. The temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees while we were eating. I shivered and he wrapped his arms around me from behind. He let his chin rest on my head and we walked together the rest of the way. It was really easier than I'd expected. He kept pace with me almost perfectly., though he had little to offer in the way of warmth.

It was still early in the night when we made it back to the loft. I dropped my briefcase by the door and slid out of my sandals. I heard the door lock behind me before I realized that Eric had done the vampire speed thing again and was already upstairs.

"I'll be down momentarily," he called down to me. I shrugged and moved into the kitchen to make myself another cup of tea.

***

I removed my socks and shoes and tossed them into the bedroom closet. I reached for my iPod and laptop and headed for the stairs. I stopped, for the second time this evening, to watch Dev moving around the kitchen. Her jacket lay across the arm of the couch and she padded almost silent around the little kitchen with her bare feet. She seemed much more relaxed this evening. I hoped she would begin sleeping more, but she would never tell me the truth. And I already knew she wouldn't.

I moved down the steps and to the iPod doc in the living area. I began a play list I had been listening to for the past few months. It started with _Auto Rock_. Dev turned as soon as she heard the music begin playing softly across the room. She smiled at me and turned back to her kettle, waiting for the whistle.

I walked to the door and began shifting through her briefcase, looking for the contract I had signed this evening. I always keep digital copies. I feel a book at the bottom of the bag and pull it out. _More, Now, Again_ by Elizabeth Wurtzel. There's an envelope shoved into the middle marking a place. I feel her moving toward me and she is carrying a mug of tea with her.

"It's about addiction and depression," she explains, taking the book from my hand and placing it back into the bag.

"And you need this because?" I ask her specifically to see what she will tell me. _Because I lost my baby. Because I drink scotch nearly every night to dull the memories. Because I would drink your blood any time you offer. Because I haven't been happy for a long time_. She says none of these things, though she knows I know they are all true.

"It helps me see things through Dad's eyes," she says matter-of-factly. And that is the last thing she will say about it.

We sit together on the couch, listening to music as I sort through documents and organize my files on Dirt Bar. She is mostly silent as she leans her head back on the couch. I hear her whisper along as the next song begins:

"_Look Ma, the sun is shining on me_

_Impatient, in love and aching to be_

_Could you believe in heaven,_

_If heaven was all you had?_"

I reach my hand out and grasp a lock of her brown curls between my fingers, and she turns her head to look at me.

"Who do you feed on?" So simply put. Point blank. I am taken a back. She quickly begins speaking again. "I mean, you hate synthetic, right? And you don't have any humans in your home, besides me. And you aren't feeding on me." She stops abruptly, waiting for my response.

I am trying to calm myself. I have had several meals here and there in the past seven months. I can go much longer without blood as I have aged, though I drink synthetic every day to dull the cravings. It has also become a social habit for me. I have never fed at the house or whenever Dev was around. Courtesy, I suppose. And I don't like people to watch me eat.

She is still staring at me.

"Why does it bother you?" I ask.

"Just curious. I mean, as far as I know, you haven't fed since you and I… in February. It doesn't bother me," she stands and takes her mug to the kitchen. I close my laptop and follow her. I don't know how to feel. There is so much I don't know about this creature. Her blunt air can be attractive one moment and presumptuous the next. And she is still so young.

I stand behind her as she rinses her cup in the sink. She sets it on the counter and remains still. I can smell the jasmine scent from the tea still surrounding her, and the peppermint from her shampoo, and the faint lingerings of her perfume. I pull her hair back in my left hand, exposing her neck and throat. I lean close and smell the scent of her blood just beneath the surface of her skin. I wait until I hear her let out a breath.

Then I bite.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Songs used in this chapter are as follows: _Trains_ by Porcupine Tree, (inferred use) _Closer_ by Kings of Leon, and _The Lightning Strike: What If This Storm Ends?_ by Snow Patrol.

I put my key in the lock and open the door to the loft. It's been only a few months since we were here last, but the smell of dust and stagnant air hits me immediately. I step back and hold the door open for Devon. "After you," I say very unceremoniously. She walks past me and up to the bedrooms with speed and grace. I have created – well, improved upon – a magnificent creature, indeed.

It has been a long trip, though the plane ride was a short one. I haven't fed enough in the past few weeks. I debate weather to run to the drug store on the corner or indulge in a more robust meal. Devon has yet to taste a human. It is something she will have to learn. I am worried she is not getting enough nutrition. I spend most of our meals together trying to make sure she drinks enough, while she is trying to pretend she doesn't miss the Indian, Chinese, Mediterranean and Italian dishes she used to look forward to. I'm barely getting two bottles a day now, and I haven't had human blood since I turned Dev.

"I'm going out for blood," I say. She has no trouble hearing me with her heightened senses, and she emerges from her bedroom. She opens her mouth, and I cut in before she gets the first letter out, "A positive." She nods once, turns around and walks back into the bedroom.

Before I leave I light several candles on the main floor – in the kitchen, by the couch, on the table – turn the lights down and I'm out the door. On my way out, I notice the chunk still missing from the brick wall next to the door. I remember when I put that there.

***

She relaxed against me as I slid my teeth out of her neck. Passion does not usually dictate my actions, but I was growing tired of this game we had been playing. And I was hungry. I wrapped my arms around her as she leaned back into me, blood slowly trickling over her collarbone. I was supporting her full weight now and I lowered us both to the kitchen floor. She was in my lap, her head resting on my chest.

"Dev?" my voice is strained and sounds strange to me. "Listen to me. This cannot mean anything more than what it is. Do you understand?"

I don't register her answer as she scoots her dress down over her breasts, abdomen, hips, and finally puddles it on the floor next to us. She turns in my lap to face me, and trails her lips along the line of my neck. She gropes for my shirt, which joins her dress on the floor. I watch her moving with such urgency, and I find myself standing, lifting her, walking to the couch.

I half sit, half lie down on the couch with Devon in my lap. I slip into the music as I watch her slide her panties down and off over her delicate bare feet.

_Always the summers are slipping away_

_Find me a way for making it stay_

_When I hear the engine pass_

_I'm kissing you wide_

_The hissing subsides_

_I'm in luck_

_When the evening reaches here_

_You're tying me up_

_I'm dying of love_

_It's ok_

The next moment, my pants were on the floor and she was straddling me. I held a fistful of her brown curls in my left hand and leaned her head back a moment to look into her golden eyes. "Slow," I instructed, and she adjusted her pace accordingly. She inclined her head and I rewarded her with a kiss. I would pace myself this evening. I did not want to take too much from her. I was not willing to replace her blood with mine, and I doubt that she would appreciate the necessity of using synthetic blood if I had nearly drained her.

I reached over the arm of the couch with my free hand and grabbed a blanket to drape over ourselves. I shifted and quickly she was lying down and I was leaning over her. I raked my fingers through her long, very soft hair. I ran my hands down her arms as I planted soft, deep kisses on her slightly parted mouth. I gently scraped my fangs against her lower lip and briefly tasted her blood once more.

"Eric," she half moaned.

I hushed her and spoke between kisses. "Dear One. We will. Take plenty of. Time. Tonight. I am very. Hungry. And you. Are very good." I push back on my elbows and look at her, smiling back at me. I begin to run my hands from her arms over her breasts and down her stomach. She shudders and I lean in once more to take another sip. I bite just beneath her left nipple.

After a few draws, I force myself to let go. She has a look of expectancy and almost pure longing in her eyes. I reach my hand down between her legs to tease her. She is practically dripping and I can't help but bring my fingers to my mouth to taste. At that moment my reserve dissipates completely and I am preparing myself to be inside her. I hear a whimper and realize that I've rushed things too much. She's presumably not had sex in seven months, and I may be too big to enter so quickly. I look down at her as if to ask if she is ok, and she has a look of horror on her face.

"Why are you stopping?" she asks, and I burst into laughter. "That's not funny," she says as she begins a small peel of laughter of her own.

I lean into her with another thrust and nuzzle the hair pilled between her shoulder and neck. "Angel," I whispered in her ear. "Come closer." I could feel her try to wiggle nearer as we moved in rhythm with one another, and the music. I reached my hand behind her and grasped her hips. I realized that my hand could sink in deeper now than the last time I used her hips to guide me. She was getting terribly thin. I ran my hand up along her back and tried to keep myself from counting her ribs.

"Eric?" she whispered. "What's wrong?"

I realized then that I had slowed my pace almost to the point of stopping. I pulled back a little and trailed my fingers across her cheek. "Nothing, Dear One." I would have to distract her now. "Turn on your belly," I say as I lift myself off of her. She did as I asked and I knelt on the floor beside the couch. I ran my hands along the taught muscles of her back, easy to feel under her thin flesh. I continued until I felt some kind of release of tension. She would be just as tense again tomorrow, but I wanted to give her a chance to relax.

I ran my hand up and down her back a few times in a soothing motion after my pseudo massage. I finally let my hand work it's way further down over her buttocks and between her legs to her wet spot. I slid in two fingers at first. Then, as her muscles relaxed and began to open, I slid in a third finger. I moved my fingers back and forth inside her, spreading her open, wider than before, but better for the new angle. In a few moments I climbed on top of her, straddling her hips, her legs pressed together between mine, and I entered her from behind.

She gasped a little in surprise, then began a deep animalistic moan. It reminded me of a low growl. I grabbed her wrists and stretched them above her head as I leaned down to whisper, "Do you like that?" I shifted both wrists to my left hand and moved my right hand beneath her, just over her clit. I lightly stroked in small, slow circles as I felt her tighten around me. I could feel her building beneath me and I was building with her. I leaned my head down to her outstretched arms, and I softly kissed her there, then I bit.

Fifteen minutes later, we sat with our backs against the base of the couch, her head on my shoulder, my fingers twirling her hair against her cheek. We were still naked, wrapped up in the blanket from before. She had gotten up and made herself some tea, and was sipping it absentmindedly as we listened to the rain hitting the windows. _The Lightning Strike_ was playing now, and I had to smile to myself.

_What if this storm ends?_

_And I don't see you_

_As you are now_

_Ever again_

_The perfect halo_

_Of gold hair and lightning_

_Sets you off against_

_The planet's last dance_

"What are you going to do when I'm gone?" she asked in a soft, almost ethereal voice.

***

"Will that be all, Mr. Northman?" She asks as she runs her hands over my now-healed fang marks.

"I'll need two six packs of A positive and a pack of O negative, if it wouldn't be too much trouble for you." She smiles at me, and walks to the refrigerated case behind the counter. I've grown to appreciate Clair very much over the past year. In a pinch, she's come through with some very high quality blood for Dirt Bar when I need her to. She runs an establishment two doors down from Poison Girl. It's called Apothecary. A review in the business section of the Chronicle called it "GNC meets 'vampire Smoothie King'." Along with many different kinds of rare and expensive blood, Clair imported and sold different tabacos, incense, herbal remedies, iron supplements, rare vitamins, immuneo boosters and suppressants (depending on your specific needs), teas, extracts, supe literature and the occasional random occult item. The shop is open from 4 PM to 4 AM daily. It resembles a cozy little bookstore/café.

I watched Clair pull three six packs off of the top shelf of the case. She has to stand on a stool to reach them. She's a tiny thing, only 5 feet at most. She weighs about 98 lbs, and about a third of that is located in her bra. She has a cool, quiet confidence that reminds me of my own. She sets the bloods on the counter in front of me and without thinking, I reach out for her hand. I bring her wrist to my nose and inhale the scent of her blood, her taste still lingering in the back of my throat.

Clair calmly removes her wrist from my hand and places hers on my shoulder. "Eric, you're still hungry. Let me buy you a blood. You need more, and I need one myself."

I follow her across the main floor of the shop to the Blood Bank – another small counter with a six burner gas stove, a small refrigerator case, and various bowls of blood additives sitting around the counter. She pulls out a very old bottle of Royalty, packaged like champagne. She pours it into two stainless steel bowls, blackened on the outsides, and places them on the stove, turning the flames on to a low glow. I watch her break up pieces of chocolate and sprigs of lavender and add them to one of the bowls.

"This blood is older than I am. You're the only client I have who can appreciate that. There's just not as much class in the breed as there used to be, you know?" She stirs each bowl with a separate spoon. "Why haven't you been feeding? You've never asked for human before. I figured you had your own methods of procuring it."

"I do like the hunt, Clair, but it's becoming taboo," she raised her eyebrows at me as she strained her blood into a glass, then poured mine straight. "I never hurt them," _unless they ask for it_, I add to myself. She looks at me as though she can hear my thoughts, and sips her concoction silently.

I sit there, drinking my blood, watching Clair. She's my type in more ways than one. She's petite, with short bronze-blonde waves brushing her shoulders. She has a healthy blush to her skin, not tan, but not quite pale either, and cloudy grey eyes. And as I discovered this evening, she is AB negative. Heavenly. When I came into the shop tonight, she immediately came to greet me. She offered herself when I inquired about her human selection. She had two more donors on call this evening, but she was available, and would I be agreeable to that? I don't think she was trying to seduce me, but I wondered if I would mind if she had.

I knew the answer was yes, and I knew I would not have to worry about letting her down gently.

"How is Devon?" she asked as she took a bite out of some South American protein bar.

"She is _vampire_, now." She coughs a little as I say it. Surprised, no doubt.

"Tell me."

***

_What if this storm ends?_

_And leaves us nothing_

_Except a memory_

_A distant echo_

My fingers cease moving through her soft curls. And I sit silently for a moment. "What do you mean, 'when you're gone'?" I ask quietly, calmly. She stands, wrapping the blanket around her body, and tosses me my pants on her way to the kitchen.

"I can't live forever, Eric," she says it slowly, as if she is explaining something to a child. This aggravates me. I stand to button my pants and follow her across the room. She's measuring coffee into the french press and I can see her hand shaking. I place my hand on her shoulder and she jumps. She shrugs my hand off as she turns to put the kettle on the stove.

"Well, you said it as though you had a time frame in mind," I press. She is silent. "Dev? What do you mean? If you think you can ask me to turn," she slams her palm down hard on the counter.

"Oh, you don't know anything! I don't want you to turn me! Maybe I didn't mean anything by it. Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I've dealt with ten thousand things today. Maybe I've had a rough year. Can't you just listen without over analyzing every fucking thing?"

"You asked a question. Now let me answer it. What will I do when you're gone? Simply enough, I will move on." I said it with a cold certainty. I had proven once that I could live without her. I could do it again, if I had to.

I turned to walk back to the couch. I stood watching her reflection in the flat screen above the fireplace. I watched her walk out of the kitchen, heard her footsteps on the stairs. I heard her bedroom door slam. The kettle started to whistle noisily. I stepped back into the kitchen, removed the kettle from the stove, and sent it flying across the room and into the brick wall next to the door. I picked up my shirt from the pile of clothes on the kitchen floor walked across the room and slammed the door to the loft, leaving a puddle of water, mortar and twisted metal behind me.

***

I was in rare form tonight. I stormed past the door girl at Poison Girl without a second glance. I found my way to a booth at the rear of the bar, far from the high-pitched whining of the pinball machines. I sat and waited for service, trying not to think.

A small, mousy girl with black-framed glasses and tousled black hair came to my table with a tablet and pen. "Sir," she began.

"AB negative. Royalty or some other top shelf if you have it."

"Sir, um, you're not wearing any shoes," she was barely audible, and trying to look anywhere but at my feet.

"And that is relevant because?" I watch her shrink slowly into herself, like someone has let the air out of a balloon. "You may be referring to what you believe is a health code violation, but, I assure you that no such law exists. Now," I stare into her eyes for a few seconds before continuing. "You were going to get me my blood. And give my card to your bartender, Blu." I handed her my card and motioned to the bar.

As she walked away, I was approached by a very petite young girl. She was wearing a dark crimson, layered skirt that covered her feet, and a grey cotton bodice that buttoned down the front, leaving the slightest bit of hip uncovered. She slid into the booth across from me. I growled a warning. I was in no mood for games this evening. She only smiled in response.

"They don't carry Royalty here," she said as she rearranged the napkins, coasters and drink menus lying at the end of the table. "There isn't much top shelf here anyway. They do aspire to being known as a Dive Bar. I'm Clair," she reaches her hand out across the table, then slowly retracts it. "But you don't shake hands, do you?" Her grin widens.

The mousy girl returns with a bottle of Bath, a cheap rip off of Royalty. "This is what we have in top shelf," she squeaks. I catch and hold her gaze again.

"I'm not paying for that." She turns and hurries back to the bar, leaving the blood on the table. I take a sip, and try to ignore the bitter after taste.

"You know that using unnecessary glamour is a federal offense now?" Clair asks nonchalantly.

"But how would you prove it, if I were to glamour you?" she leans back a bit in her seat and shifts her gaze a little. This is the behavior I expect in return for a veiled threat. I chuckle softly. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your most beautiful company, Clair?"

"I'm trolling for business," she smiles widely again. "I manage an establishment a few doors down. The Apothecary. We offer bottled and fresh, and a variety of other interesting novelties." She slid a flyer to me across the table.

I watched her extricate herself from the booth and mix back into the crowd of bar patrons as I took another sip of this synthetic crap they called blood.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews. They keep me motivated. I hope some things are beginning to come clear for all of you, but I'm holding out on divulging my intentions. I've gotta keep some stuff secret. ;) Music used herein: _I Don't Love You_ by My Chemical Romance, _Fourth Time Around_ by Bob Dylan, and the album _Ágætis Byrjun _by Sigur Ros.

******

I catch up with her a few minutes later, leaving the remnants of my bottled blood cooling on the table. "Can we go there now?" I ask over the noise of the crowd. I know it's nearing closing time, according to the information on the flyer she gave to me. But I'm not ready to go home, and I'm not willing to stay here.

"Sure. Follow me."

Moments later we are standing outside Apothecary in a drizzle of rain. There is a soft glow emanating from the front windows and leaded glass door. I can smell the different humans that have passed through that door earlier this evening. I could smell other things as well. Were, shifter, vampire, fairy (though faint, it was still there). I smelled the earthiness of minerals and herbs. Clair placed one hand on the door handle and one up in front of me as if her hand could stop me from moving forward into the shop.

"One thing first," she said. "I've introduced myself. Now what's your name?"

"Northman," I say, letting a slight bit of my Norse accent slip into my voice. "Eric Northman."

"Is that like 'Bond. James Bond'?" she giggles, then quickly straightens up and composes herself as my smile melts away. She clears her throat, "Sorry," and smiles. Then she opens the door. "After you, Mr. Northman."

***

I heard a crash and the door slam, but remained huddled in the corner of my room, looking out at the street, dark and lonesome at 3 AM. I sat there for a long time, looking at nothing, caring about nothing. Empty. I knew I had hit a brick wall. It's bad when you can't even cry anymore.

I thought of Daddy, and a mother I had never met. I wondered if I had died instead of her, would he still be alive? Would she? I had let go of my dad years before he died. But I sometimes had dreams that he was still here, and everything was all so wrong. Nothing made sense in those dreams. Someone would ask me why I was acting like he was dead, when he was obviously still here. I could see him, speak to him, but I knew he shouldn't be here. It was wrong, and nobody would believe me. In those dreams I felt so lost and alone and wronged. So frustrated. I would wake up crying. But those weren't the worst dreams.

In other dreams I was happy. I was living in a home with a husband and a little girl. Sometimes the husband was Eric, or Joss, or someone who looked a lot like my grandpa. Our little girl was beautiful. She was about two years old. She had beautiful golden-brown hair that went every which way it pleased. Her smile absolutely lit up the room and her eyes were the clearest ice blue I had seen next to Eric's. Then another man would show up. He was dead, but he would stand in front of my baby girl and claim that he was her father. He said she belonged with him and I never deserved to be this happy. Then it would all melt away. The house, the husband, my little girl would all vanish into thin air and I was alone in the dark. I would wake up crying.

Another version is just me and my girl. We are happy once again, but my subconscious knows by now it's not real and I'm expecting the bottom to fall out, because it always does. We are swinging on a rope swing, or dancing in the park, or singing in the car. Then clear as a bell, I hear her beautiful voice proclaim, "I have to go now. You can't have me. And you never will". And I wake up sobbing.

The one I've been having almost every time I close my eyes recently is very different.

There is a dark room and I am suspended in this cavernous space in a cage, hanging by a chain from a ceiling I cannot see. Below me is a body of water so vast I can't even guess where it begins or ends. I'm suddenly being lowered into the water. Just before I run out of air, the cage I'm in surfaces again and I'm gasping for breath. This is repeated over and over for what seems like an eternity. Every time I come up I protest that I can't breathe under water and this is going to kill me. I hear voices when I say this. "What do you mean? It's easy." "Why won't you just calm down? You're over reacting!" After a while they start ignoring me, and I'm drowning in silence. I wake up gasping for air.

This is only what I can remember.

I have a void in me when I'm awake that physically aches. I know it's not just about the baby. It hurts to breath sometimes, for no reason at all. I try to focus on work, but there's only so much I can do.

And now Eric. Why does he have to care? I have good days and bad days like anyone else. But he's asking all these questions. 'Why don't I eat?' 'Why don't I sleep?' 'Why am I so reckless about drinking his blood?' And tonight I really fucked up and let it slip that I had been thinking about not being here. Not really thinking about killing myself, just not existing anymore. He wasn't going to let that one go easily. I couldn't tell him what was really going on. It was too human to get him involved in. But his persistence just keeps making it harder for me to shut off. It makes me think about things I'd really rather forget ever effected my life.

I heard a police siren down the street and it pulled me out of my private reverie. I realized I was getting cold, sitting there in the light blanket. I glanced at the clock. Almost 4 o'clock. Eric would be home by 5, unless he planned on spending the day somewhere else. I hoped not. I know he said we couldn't really be anything to each other, but that was bullshit and he knows it.

I stood and put on a long, warm cotton nightgown, and headed downstairs to asses the damage.

***

"Royalty, AB negative. On the house," she smiled as she slid the glass of warm blood across the counter to me.

"And why is that?"

"'Cause you have issues. I'm not asking what they are or suggesting that you spill your guts. Just saying, I think you could appreciate a drink 'on the house', is all."

"That is an expensive glass of blood to be giving away," I protest, and hand her my credit card. By now the shop was deserted and locked for the morning. Most of the lights had been shut off and there was only a soft glow coming from the pendant lights above the bar and the reading area.

She took my card and gave me a smile in return. "If you insist," she swiped it and handed it back to me. "I've just got to reshelf some things and then wipe down the bar. I'll be hovering around here and there if you need anything." I raised my glass to her as she wandered to the back of the shop.

I surveyed the space around me. I saw aisles of herbs and roots and barks in jars, lining one wall. Across from it was a combined section on western medicine, eastern medicine, and other alternative healing methods. The back wall consisted of were fiction, vamp fiction, fey lore and history, wicca reference, supernatural studies, and supe history/politics/reference. There was a small group of shelves near the front that housed mainstream scifi, fantasy, and fiction. I heard Clair rummaging through a stack of books in vamp fiction.

"Hey," she called to the bar. "I'm gonna turn the stereo back on. Any music preferences?"

"I have eclectic tastes," I call back to her. Moments later I hear music floating up from the back of the shop.

_Well when you go_

_Don't ever think I'll make you try to stay_

_And maybe when you get back_

_I'll be off to find another way_

_When after all this time that you still owe_

_You're still, the good-for-nothing I don't know_

_So take your gloves and get out_

_Better get out_

_While you can_

_When you go_

_Would you even turn to say_

_"I don't love you_

_Like I did_

_Yesterday"_

***

I was driving down I-20, on my way from Ruston back to Fangtasia. The windows were down, and the volume was up. _I Don't Love You_ was playing so loudly I nearly missed the call. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I was loath to answer it. It was Bill.

Bill had left my area months ago. He was resident in Texas now, and, frankly I was glad to be rid of him.

I flipped my phone open and held it to my ear. I didn't bother to turn the music down.

"That noise is hideous," Bill said by way of greeting.

"Compton," I acknowledged him. "Why are you calling me?" I heard him clear his throat, before he answered in a hushed voice.

"Because she asked me to."

I began seeing red. I let my foot off the gas and maneuvered the corvette to the shoulder to park for a moment. She had contacted Bill. That was no surprise. He was like her dog. He kept going back for more. I had given up on her nearly a year ago. I hadn't felt her through the bond, which led me to believe that it would dissipate with time and distance. The more desperately I searched for her, the weaker I appeared to my peers. It was self-preservation that had caused me to give up in the end.

I was angry with her. I deserved answers. But I was also curious. I was not used to being in the dark where Sookie was concerned, after being so closely bonded to her. I needed to see her, but I would not let Bill know how badly. I composed myself before speaking.

"Why?"

"Don't feel so special, Eric. She had me call Sam as well as Jason," he sounded upset that he was not so special either. "They are driving to Houston tomorrow morning. They should arrive sometime shortly after noon."

"Answer me, Compton. Why?" It was difficult to keep the anticipation out of my voice, but I hoped he took it for anger.

"She is not well. She wants to see you for herself, before I say anything further. She," I cut him off.

"Let me speak to her." I heard a door shut on the other end of the line.

"Not now, Eric. Let me tell you what I can," he waited for a response and had to be satisfied with my silence. "She contacted me two days ago. I hadn't heard from her since before she left Bon Temps, as you well know. She asked me to come see her in Houston. I live in Beaumont now, so it's not far of a drive, a little over an hour. She is renting a room near the Memorial area." There was a long silence, then he began again. "You will find her much changed, Eric."

"If she is ill, feed her. You have my permission."

"She is not bound to you any longer, Eric. You have no say in the matter. Though I would gladly oblige if I could." His voice sounded strained. "How soon can you be here?"

"Soon," I said, and hung up the phone.

I stepped out of the car, locked it and began dialing Pam. She picked up on the first ring.

"Master?"

"I'm headed to Houston, Pam. I need you to come get my car and leave it at the club. It's on the side of I-20 about 25 minutes outside of Shreveport. I'll call you if I require anything else." My voice was devoid of all conversational tone, and my child did well to recognize that.

"Yes, Master. I'll await your call."

I hung up the phone and began my assent above the tree line. I would call Bill on the way for the address. Of course she would call him first. Damn him.

***

"Your blood is cold."

I blinked and turned my head to see Clair, wiping down the counter around my now cooled glass of blood. The music had changed to _Fourth Time Around._ "All of a sudden, I'm not hungry."

She looked at me as if she understood. Somehow, I believe she did. I walked around behind the counter, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you for the company," I said as I headed to the door.

"Same," she called back with a smile. "I'll see you soon, I'm sure of it."

I walked the two blocks to the lot where I had parked my car. I slid into my seat and retrieved my phone from my pocket. It wasn't likely that I'd missed a call, but I wanted to make sure. No new messages or calls. I turned the key in the ignition and listened to the engine kick on. Sigur Rós was playing softly over the speakers as I drove home through the damp streets.

When I walked through the door to the loft, I saw that the metal and brick fragments had been swept into a pile, the water mopped up. The music was still playing, though the volume had been turned down. The blanket lay folded across the back of the couch. And Devon was nowhere in sight.

I made my way up the steps and glanced into her bedroom. The bed was still tidy and the light was off, but I could smell her now. I turned and took a step into my room. She lay in the middle of my bed, curled around a pillow. She was wearing a dark grey nightgown and she almost blended in with my bedding. She was asleep. I took of my shirt and dropped it on the floor, then reached to the wall and switched off the light. I walked around the bed and sat down behind Devon. She stirred but did not completely awake. I leaned back on the bed, reached around her and gently pulled her to my side.

"We have to talk about this. I won't keep this up, do you understand me?" She turned her head to face me, her eyes still closed.

"So talk."

"What do you want from me?" I asked bluntly.

"I don't know, Eric. I probably want something you can't give me. You don't want any obligations, yet you feel obligated. And I don't want to complicate your life, but I want to be something more to you than what I am." She was suddenly silent.

"At least you're being honest." I huffed. "I can't give you what you want. It's good that you know that. But I do care for your wellbeing and you are concerning me. I can't read you like you read me."

"You do a pretty good job of it," she interrupted me, muttering under her breath.

"So," I ignored that statement. "When I'm trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with you, either tell me, or don't, but don't start a fight." She let out a breath and I could feel her nod her head. "We can be with each other for now. Until it stops making sense."

"You really do have a cold heart," she whispered softly into my chest. She snuggled closer towards me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"I never claimed anything else," I whispered back.

She fell asleep in my arms. As I lay there next to her, I watched the room begin to lighten as the sun began approaching the sky. I was keeping time with her breathing and thinking about my affinity for abnormally difficult women. I suddenly felt her go rigid against me. A second latter, she was sitting straight up, sobbing and gasping for breath.

"Shh, Dev." I wrapped my arms around her and tried my best to sooth her. I didn't get much of a chance to ask about her dream, let alone calm her. The sun was in the sky and sleep was pulling me under. I choked out one last question, "Will you be alright?" I registered a nod from her, and then I was asleep with the dead.

***

The rest of our time in Houston passed relatively calmly. I spent each night in Eric's bed. Sometimes we had sex and more often than not, he would feed from me. Other nights consisted of reviewing figures, going over applications for new bar employees, conference calls between Eric, Pam and Felicia, all lasting till dawn. I began to realize with a certainty that Eric was either all the way on or all the way off when it comes to sex. In that way he did _not_ mix business and pleasure. Though he took both tasks to heart.

I learned how to keep quiet when waking from my nightmares. If I allowed myself the blind panic I had become accustomed to, Eric would always ask, and I wasn't going to discuss it with him. He still knew when it happened, but I suppose my reactions were convincingly less alarming, so he didn't mention it anymore.

The re-opening of Dirt Bar went very smoothly. Eric had hired a bar manager named Blu, who used to tend bar and had certain managerial responsibilities at Poison Girl. There was also a girl that had agreed to come in a few mornings a week to take inventory and restock our blood supply. She could get a hold of some really rare blood, as it happened. She managed a shop down Montrose called Apothecary. She was pleasant enough to work with, and very professional. It was nice to have someone to talk to during the day, and sometimes I'd spend a few hours at her shop while I was waiting on Eric to rise for the night.

There was a party at Dirt on Halloween night. We made a brief appearance, shook a few hands, and I made my excuses for Eric so we could leave. When we got in the car, he rested his hand on my thigh, bare halfway up due to the truly mini dress I was wearing.

"We need to go home. Now," he said gruffly. I had also learned that a favorite method of letting off stress for Eric was physical activity. He said he rarely ever got to fight anymore. Sex was the next best thing.

"I'm really exhausted. Can't we just get to Shreveport first?" Our bags were already in the car and Eric was planning on driving straight through. "If we go home we won't be able to leave till tomorrow night, then you'll have to put off going to Fangtasia another night." I could sense "work Eric" kicking back into full gear.

"You make too much sense for your own good," he glared at me. He grabbed a cardigan out of the back seat, which I was sure I had packed in my suitcase, and handed it to me. "Put this on. We will be driving almost five hours northeast of here. It will be a bit cool for short sleeves."

I wrapped myself up in the sweater, leaned back in the seat and felt Eric rest his hand on my leg once more, settling in for the long drive. I placed my hand on top of his and tried to keep myself from falling into too deep a sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This is a short one, but I just couldn't keep it in my head and I think that you guys deserve, as much as Eric did, to know what's going on with Sookie. This might be a teary chapter for some, so be warned. Also, i only address two time lines/segments in this chapter. There is also a sobering lack of music. Please take it for what it's worth, and let me know what you think. More coming soon.

******

It was almost 4 AM when I pulled up outside my home in Shreveport. Pam was already there. I had asked her to see that it was cleaned and properly stocked with blood and food. It had been nearly ten years since I had stayed at my old home, just outside of the historical district in Shreveport. On my numerous brief visits in the past, I had sheltered with Pam, or at one of the local vampire hotels. I would be here a bit longer this time and Devon was staying with me. It made sense to stay at the house.

It was a small craftsman-style bungalow on half an acre. It was brick construction from the 1930's, with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, a small kitchen, a den and a living area, and a small, detached one car garage. One of the bedrooms was outfitted for human guests, the other was converted into my private office. At the back of the house was the den. I had this room connected to the larger of the two bathrooms, light tight, and outfitted with several different security systems. I used this as my personal bedroom. It was the only room in the house that was light tight. I would need to convert the rest of the house soon, if I were to be making many trips back to the area.

The house had been restored and kept to the craftsman style, as well as it could be and still be secure for vampire safety. I wanted it to resemble a normal home, in a normal neighborhood. Certainly not anywhere you would expect to find Area 5's Sheriff. I had exceeded my own expectations and my home had remained a safe haven up until my departure from the area.

Now it was a ghost house. No one came or went, and all the neighbors new that the property belonged to a vampire, though my previous status remained either a mystery or of little interest to them. The lights came on this evening and the dust had been stirred in preparation for my homecoming. However transient I had been in my long life, this town, this Area, was as much of a home as I had ever known. And I felt the truth of it as I returned.

I sat in the driveway, facing the garage for a few moments before I turned off the ignition. I smelled Pam inside. She heard the car coming up the drive and was politely waiting for me to proceed inside.

Devon sat next to me rubbing sleep from her eyes. Try though she had, she couldn't help dozing off every twenty minutes or so during the five-hour drive.

"This is yours?" she asked groggily. "It's so small and cozy-looking. And in the middle of no-where," she added as she glanced back down the tree-lined driveway, towards the road.

"Privacy and distance were necessary in my previous occupation," I said as I turned the key and removed it from the ignition. "Pamela waits inside. You should greet her. I know you've missed her." I saw a small smile spread across Devon's lips. I hadn't told her that Pam would be here. I watched her tousle her hair into some semblance of order and slide out of the car into the cool night. She exclaimed as the chill air hit her skin, and wrapped her sweater more tightly around her as she headed to the front door.

I exited the vehicle and walked around to the trunk to remove our baggage. I stood back a moment and took in the scene before me. As much of a family as I had had in forty years. Devon stood on the front porch next to pumpkins laid to the left of the front door in the pagan tradition of good luck and protection. Pam emerged from inside the house and they embraced each other, much like two sisters reuniting after too long. Much like Sookie used to embrace Pam, with love and friendship. It was a family, indeed. And much more than I deserved.

Pam left shortly after greeting me and bringing me up to speed on the situation at Fangtasia. She made plans to go shopping with Devon before traveling back to California to attend to other political matters. Bid us good evening, and made her exit. She was sure to smirk and make certain gestures pertaining to sleeping arrangements before she left.

"It sucks she's only going to be here for the next two days," Devon said as she sat down on her bed and began undressing. I stood in the doorway leaning on the frame, watching her. She was lovely. "I don't know anyone in Shreveport." Over the last several weeks I had been sure to listen closely for any mention she might have made to Louisiana or Bon Temps. So far, it seemed as if that was a part of his life that the shifter had kept from his family.

"I'm sure we can find something to keep you occupied." I took several steps into the dark room, meeting her gaze. "I am afraid that we cannot be together tonight. The sun will be rising very soon, and I must be secure before that happens."

She looked down, noticing that only her bags rested at the foot of the bed. "You aren't sleeping in here," she said in an accusatory tone. She was naked from the waist up and it was very hard not to go to her. She looked up at me, waiting for an explanation.

"This room is not light tight. I have other sleeping accommodations," she scowled at me, then looked down at the floor. "I'm afraid I haven't kept this house up to date with technology. I'll be having some conversions done soon. Until then, I will spend my evenings with you here, then I will retire to my light tight space till dark. That's how it has to be."

She broke her gaze from the wood grain beneath her, and turned her head back to me. "I understand." Then she reached behind her, pulled back her covers and scooted beneath them, pulling them up to her chin.

I turned and walked back toward the hallway. Before I shut the door, she spoke softly.

"Eric, could you turn on the heater before you go for the day?"

"Absolutely." Then I shut the door and turn down the hallway.

I remained awake in my room for the next hour and a half, untroubled by the dawn in the light tight space, yet unable to go to sleep. I walked across the worn wooden floor, touching the familiar surfaces as I passed. The walls, the dresser, the bed frame and bookshelves. There were books still placed hastily here and there on the shelves. Sookie's books. _The History of Love, He's Just Not That Into You, Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Time Traveler's Wife, The Memory Keeper's Daughter_, and about two dozen more. Her soft cotton robe remained hanging on the back of the bathroom door, her cell phone sat on the dresser, next to a small, framed picture of her grandmother's home on Hummingbird Road.

I sat back on the bed and slipped vividly into the past.

***

I landed smoothly behind the corner gas station, about three blocks from the address Bill had given me, and I began to walk the rest of the way. It was January – one of the coldest months for Houston – and I looked out of place, walking down the street in cowboy boots, jeans and a Fangtasia t-shirt. There was nothing that could be done. I had left my jacket in the corvette, and blending in was not a priority for me at the moment.

I passed by an aging Victorian home and around to the back where I could see a two story, converted garage apartment. Sookie was renting out the second floor. Bill stepped out of the front door, letting out a blast of heat with him. He was wearing khakis and a sweater, but no coat or shoes. He was not his usual, well-attired self. He stood at the top of the stairs like a Doberman, guarding a junkyard.

"Compton."

"Eric," he said, and he began to let his guard down. His shoulders slumped and he looked almost relieved to see me. But he continued to stand in my way. "Just be reserved in your reactions. She is terrified that you will be angry."

"Well, Bill, Sookie is a smart girl. I am angry," but I was also worried.

"Trust me, that won't matter anymore. She wanted to see you before she saw Jason tomorrow. She said you'd help her through this," I could tell it bothered him to say it, but he was telling me the truth. "She is just through the door. I will wait out here." He moved aside and I slowly opened the door.

The smell hit me first. An old heater burning high, keeping the space at about 85 degrees. Some kind of herbal concoction bubbling in a pot on the stove. Bile, blood, and death. Sookie sat, curled on a small couch, in the middle of the one room apartment. She was wrapped in her old quilt, holding a mug of the steaming herbal mixture close to her chest. Her eyes were hard and her hair was dull. She was thin, much too thin.

"Eric."

I quietly knelt before her, tears welling up in my eyes. After all the times I had seen her broken and beaten and bloodied, I had never feared for her life more than in this moment. I reached out for her hand.

"Lover, why did you wait so long? Why are you here? Let me feed you," and I lifted my free arm to my mouth. She squeezed my hand with such a force it must have drained most of what energy she had left. I stop short of opening the vein in my wrist.

"No," she said simply, forcefully. She shook her head once, leaned back, and patted the space on the couch next to her. I sat. "I'm beginning to feel like I should have recorded this or something. I had to tell Bill, and tomorrow I've got to explain this to Jason and Sam. I'm tired of talking about it, Eric. I've missed you."

"Then why did you leave?" I was trying desperately to stay calm and focused, but she was making very little sense.

"Because, apparently, I have 'no sense of self-preservation'. Guess you were right." She let out a weak giggle.

"That's not funny, Sookie," I scowled down at her.

"Ok. Here goes," she took a deep breath and began. "My aunt Linda, my dad's sister and Hadley's mama, died of breast cancer. I've always been in the greatest of health, even without your little blood transfusions from time to time. I thought, surely one day, I'd develop skin cancer, or get hit by a car, or die in a supe related hate crime or somethin', right? Well, the cancer part, that's closer to the truth." She stopped there and took a gulp of the putrid looking liquid in her mug. Then she continued. "After the fairies attacked, I was taking so long to heal, even with your blood, I decided to get checked out. I was feeling run down and I was having trouble breathing, nausea. I had no idea what that doctor was gonna tell me when he called. It turns out that I have 28 tumors in my central body mass. In my lungs and my stomach. They were all only about the size of a dime, give or take."

"Sookie, when did you know this?" I was growing angrier and more terrified by turns.

"Let me finish, Eric. Back then, he told me that it was stage four, terminal. He said that they typically don't progress very fast, but we'd see how things went. I could have another ten years. There was a hospital in Shreveport, but he said the best place for me to be was here, at M. D. Anderson. Things were going slow for about nine months, but all of a sudden, my scans revealed rapid growth."

I sat there in stunned silence, listening to her explain her treatment. Macrobiotic diets, exercise, a new experimental drug as an alternative to chemo therapy. She was going on and on about scans, and blood levels, and terms I barely recognized as medical jargon.

"I found out about a month before I left. And I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, Eric. But I was so angry with you. And I know you only would have tried to fix me yourself."

"But how do you know my blood wouldn't have cured you?" I protested, ignoring the fact that it was pretty much moot at this point.

"If you could have cured me, as much blood as I had been getting from you after the attack, don't you think I would have been ok all along? Not even diagnosable? I don't even think vampire blood can cure cancer. There are some things that God just means to happen."

This was not what I needed to hear. I needed to hear that she would be well, that she would recover. That at the very least, she would let me make her vampire. "Don't speak to me about your god, Sookie."

"Im sorry, Eric, but he is my God. And even though I haven't had the most straightforward relationship with Him all of my life, I believe that He's never gonna give me more than I can handle. Maybe I can find some kind of meaning in this, before I get to see Gran, and Mama and Daddy." Tears began to roll out over her hollow cheeks, and I couldn't stop mine from falling as well. "I don't want to live forever without the people I love. I feel like I've gone long enough."

I sank to my knees in front of her and placed my head in her lap and cried. My tears stained her old worn quilt with drops of blood. I sat there for a long time, listening to her uneven breathing, before I accepted that there was no other way.

I lifted my head to look into her face, so different from the way I remembered it. "Let me save you," I crooned. "Let me make you safe. You don't have to suffer ever again. And those you love, that live on this earth today, you will not have to abandon them. Jason, Sam,… Bill. Amelia, Tara, Hunter, even Pam."

"You too," she cut me off.

"I can make all the suffering end. You can watch over them until they have left this world, Sookie. Let me take care of everything," I tried to use my most gentle, most convincing voice, without sounding patronizing.

"You made me a promise that you would never turn me. Not even if I was dying. Don't you dare go back on your word," her words stung me like a silver blade. She stuck her little chin out and turned her mouth down into a frown. "I said no, and that's final, Northman."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: So (as much as I am beginning to get annoyed with HBO's AND Charlaine Harris' versions of Sookie being so whiny and fickle), this was a really difficult chapter for me to write. I had to go to a place that wasn't very happy and I hate to have to drag you along with me. This is a pretty sad chapter so prepare for the kleenex fest. That being said, if you still want to read, and would like a playlist for the chapter, there are 18 songs this time! They are all listed in the seccond to last paragraph. I'll wrack my brain to make the next chapter lighter, I swear. (At least I'll throw in a little lovin') Anyway, lets all enjoy what we can of True Blood tonight (meaning, 'ignore the wierd plot twists and focus on Alexander Skarsgard.' yum) 333

******

I felt like I had spent the last two days in an isolation cell. Pam had taken me shopping the night after we got to Shreveport, but that was the extent of my time away from Eric's cozy little home in the woods.

It was a very comforting place to be, and it felt very homey, but I wasn't used to being this isolated. Eric told me that I was not required to attend his business at the bar. I was instructed to stay home and rest. I hadn't spent a single night with Eric since we arrived.

The second day we were here, the clouds rolled in and the rain settled. It wasn't the off and on, torrential rains we encountered in Houston. This was a steady, gloomy drizzle. It brought the fall leaves down from the trees and was accompanied by a cool front, though it was already cool enough for my taste.

I tried to occupy myself with television, but there was nothing but documentaries of Thanksgiving traditions, serial killers, psychic detectives, and the occasional ghost hunter show. When I had had enough of pumpkin pie and Charles Manson, I sought out Eric's old DVD collection. I watched the first three seasons of Lost by the third afternoon.

Between disc 4 of season 3 and disc 1 of season 4, the input switched back over to cable for a few seconds. I had left it on A&E and something caught my attention while I was searching for the input button on the remote.

…_where the impact of the Great Revelation was felt in the south. All over the country, supernaturally inclined individuals, or "Supes", were revealing themselves in force. Though vampires were certainly the most well known supernaturals in the world at that time, we would soon be introduced to Shapeshifters, Weres, Fairies, Demons and numerous other creatures that we had once blindly believed were myth and legend. _

_Occurring soon after the initial revelation of the vampires was Hurricane Katrina. Not only humans were displaced, but the vampire community suffered great losses as well. Many were forced to relocate to the northern part of the state._

_In a small town, not far from Shreveport, Louisiana, lived Sookie Stackhouse. Not a vampire herself, but a waitress at a bar, and a vampire sympathizer in a time and place that was less than sympathetic to vampires. There was nothing special about Sookie to most outsiders, but her closest friends and family knew her true nature. Sookie Stackhouse was a Telepath._

_The Stackhouse home remains intact today. You can find it just off Hummingbird Road in Bon Temps, Louisiana. It is part of the Compton House and Historical Museum. Tours are given of the historical Compton home, due largely to it's antebellum history, but the Stackhouse home has become a point of interest in the underground Supe-centered community. Though tours are not officially given, you can visit the home on Hummingbird road and see the site of many Supe-related events, including the Louisiana Vampire Coup._

_As a child, Sookie and her brother, Jason…_

I turned the volume down and went to get my laptop. Eric had left me the keys to a car he had rented for me in case I needed to go somewhere during the day. I had been cooped up for too long, and I was curious. I knew that name from somewhere. _Stackhouse_. Maybe from back home, but it was just too strange a coincidence. I googled directions to Bon Temps and sent them to the car's nav system. I realized I was still in my sweat pants and a Zone ATX t-shirt. I went back into my room and quickly pulled on a pair of dark jeans, my old grey tank top, and a long cranberry colored sweater wrap. I shoved my feet into the new boots Pam had bought for me, and grabbed my purse on my way to the living room. I reached for the remote to switch off the screen, when I saw a familiar face flash next to a picture of the Stackhouse home. I didn't have to hear the narrator to know who it was. Eric. Funny how he hadn't mentioned much about his past in Louisiana. I realized that he knew so much about my life and what I had been through, and I knew very little about him. And his past extended long before I was ever even imagined.

I picked up the keys and made my way out the door to the car, and soon, to Bon Temps.

***

My head was reeling by the time I left the Compton and Stackhouse properties. I took the tour of the Compton Museum first, then made my way across the cemetery to the Stackhouse home, stopping every now and then to look at the Civil War headstones. I stopped and took a picture of William T. Compton's marker with my phone. I had just learned that Bill had Finally Died around the time I was born, though his grave stone was Civil War era. Closer to the Stackhouse property there was a small, square marker that read simply: _If you have to go don't say goodbye. If you have to go don't you cry. If you have to go we will get by. Sook, we love you always. 2007 _

I crossed the yard to the house and took the unofficial tour. This consisted of a steaming cup of strong chicory coffee on the front porch, and a long conversation with the caretaker. His wife had passed last year and their children lived back east. I could tell he was lonely, and though he wasn't supposed to open the home to visitors, he was more than glad for the company. I walked through the tiny rooms quietly. It wasn't much to see, but you could tell that whoever had lived here had loved it. I asked the old man – Jack – about the Vampire Coup, but he didn't seem to know anything. "The Bon Temps Public Library would be a better source of information, Miss. I didn't even live here at the time." I let out a sigh. I was still in the dark about Eric, and how he was connected with the Stackhouses. "Maybe you'd like to see where Miss Sookie worked? I can give you the address."

It was just getting dark when my car pulled up outside a small bar and grill with a familiar name. My grandfather's name.

***

The house was quiet when I awakened. Empty. For a moment I was concerned. But Devon was capable of taking care of herself and I was no longer in a position to fear retaliation. Being back in Shreveport brought back many memories for me, least of all, pleasant.

I decided to take advantage of my privacy for the moment and do some digging. In the past few weeks, between Carlos hunting for information and Devon divulging more of her past in the hours before dawn, the picture was becoming clearer. After her father's death a few years ago, Devon lost touch with Sam. She had refused to attend Billy's funeral and her grandfather was furious. She lay in bed late one night speaking softly of her regret over the issue:

"_He was so disappointed. And I was so angry that he wanted me to forget everything and go to this funeral and pretend it was normal. Like he'd died of something that was inevitable. Forget that he drank himself half to death and finally overdosed. It was purely selfish and I told myself I would never forgive him for that. Either of them. I didn't go…" She stopped and took a deep breath. "And I haven't seen Grandpa since. We e-mailed for a few months on and off, but it didn't last long. I've never really known my dad like Grandpa did, but I couldn't help loving him. I regret not going to his funeral, but it's the past now and I can't change it. What if he never forgives me, Eric?"_

"_Then he is a petty, selfish man, mired in his own grief," I said softly as I pulled her closer to me. Images of Sam Merlotte with Sookie, and later with Jason and Sookie's friends, Tara and Amelia, came to mind. He was unfailingly present when Sookie had need of him and he always had a warm presence about him. "He has already forgiven you, dear one. How could he not?" That seemed to be enough confirmation for her to relax and drift off to sleep for a few hours. _

Carlos had tracked Sam from Austin, to Brenham, to Orange, Texas before he disappeared. There had been rumors of him going home to Louisiana, but nothing confirmed.

I knew where to start my search. I picked up the phone and dialed the last number I had for Alcide Herveaux.

"Hrmph," came a gruff voice over the line. I did not reply, but waited for a more coherent response. "I said 'hello?'"

"Hello, Alcide. This is Eric Northman."

Silence.

"I wonder if you might be able to dig up some information on an old, mutual acquaintance. I promise, it won't be any trouble for you."

"Aren't you in Texas? Who do I know in Texas?" He began sounding gradually more alert, as if I had woken him from a deep sleep and he was shaking off the remnants of a dream. "Are you talking about Merlotte? Explain why I should care. This isn't your area anymore." Alcide hadn't changed much.

"I need to know because I need to know," I tried to keep the frustration from my voice. What was the expression Sookie used to use? You catch more flies with honey. "I have made the acquaintance of a relative of Merlotte's. I would appreciate it if you could point me in the right direction, Alcide."

"Sure, I can do that, Eric. He's in Bon Temps Cemetery, close to Sookie's house." I didn't give myself time to respond. I hung up on Alcide.

Should I drop the whole thing and let Devon keep wondering? She would be furious and difficult to deal with if she knew I was aware and hadn't told her. She would be upset that I had kept as much as I had from her thus far. That I had known Sam. That I had known who she was for some time. That I knew what she was, when I was fairly certain she did not. Either way, I would wound her trust in me a little more. I needed to do this in a way that would cause minimal damage.

Just then, the phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Is this, ah a Mr. Northman?" a young male voice came over the line.

"Who's concern is that?" I asked impatiently.

"Huh? Oh. This is Derek, over at Merlotte's in Bon Temps. There's a real pretty girl in here with your card in her purse. I just cut her off. She's gonna need a ride."

"Don't let her leave," I instructed him as I walked out the front door.

***

I landed at the end of the entrance to the parking lot. Still a dusty rat hole in a filthy wall. This town would never change. I spotted the rental car on my way up to the entrance of the bar. The exterior of the establishment remained almost identical to the bar of 40 years ago. The sign had been replaced, and the trailer in the back – Sam's home – was no longer there.

I walked into the bar to see the young voice from the other end of the cell phone. He looked about 19 or 20 years old. Not old enough to drink, but certainly old enough to serve alcohol. I glanced from him around the room. It wasn't especially crowded tonight. It was a Tuesday evening at about eight o'clock.

There was a booth near the front of the dinning area that held a picture of Sam at about 30 years old, with Terry Belfluer on one side and Sookie on the other. They were standing behind the bar, each with a beer in hand. There were a few small candles burning and a rose floating in a rocks glass next to the picture. There was another picture of Sam, much older this time, again with Terry, holding up a large catfish near a lake.

I saw a small middle-aged woman sitting at a booth at the back of the bar with her arm around Devon. Dev was staring blankly at the ceiling, tears falling silently down her cheeks, blinking every now and then. There was a glass on the table in front of her, empty but for a few pieces of melting ice.

I realized that the majority of the crowd tonight was in their fifties or older. People who would have known Sam before he sold the bar. They were holding a memorial service.

The woman caught my eye, said something to Dev, and began moving in my direction. She reached her hand out to pat my arm, "Rebecca DuRone. You must be Eric?"

This was Tara's daughter. "Yes, thank you for calling me."

"You're not her favorite person right now, Mr. Northman," She told me.

"I'm not surprised."

"Did you know Sam? Could I get you something to drink?" she seemed warm, but tired and concerned all at once. "I guess I should introduce myself better. My mother owns the bar. She bought it from Sam when I was a little girl. I manage it now. Call me Becky" She motioned for me to have a seat at the bar. She poured herself a glass of water and asked again if I would drink. I shook my head.

"I knew Sam," I sighed as I glanced at the old, yellowing photographs still hung along the back of the bar wall. "A long time ago. We had a mutual friend."

"I didn't even know he had a son, and then Devonee came in here asking a lot of strange questions." She looked at me as if for answers. I couldn't give her anything. I was looking for Sam to answer my questions about Dev. I was at a loss.

"How did he die?"

"He was hit by a car," she closed her eyes for a brief moment before looking at me again. "It was the full moon. He was in the hospital for a few days in ICU before he passed. He was staying with Terry. He's been pretty bad off. Having a lot of flashbacks. You know Terry? Maybe he'd like to say hi."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," no doubt I would be a catalyst for more flashbacks. Not that I would be directly connected to any combat Terry had seen, but I was often around when disaster struck near Bon Temps or Shreveport.

"And how's Devon?" That was a stupid question, Eric.

"Her granddaddy just died. How would you feel?" She shared her mother's ability to be brutally honest. "Sorry, we're all on edge. I remember Sam sending me little toys and things from Ireland. I'm pretty sure he and Mom dated a long time ago." She flashed me a crooked smile. "How do you know Devon?"

"She is my employee," I glanced over my shoulder towards the table where she rested her head, starring off into space.

"She said she was mad at you, and she wasn't going home with you. I got the impression… well, that doesn't matter. She said you lied to her about Sam and Bill and Sookie. How could you know Sookie?" she waited patiently for me to answer, but I only smiled. "You can't be a day over 30, and that's a stretch."

"I'm flattered, Becky. What do I owe you for Devon's tab tonight?"

"On me. I know what she's going through, poor thing," I shook my head. She couldn't possibly know. "Just make sure she gets home safe, Handsome," and she tossed me the keys to the rental car in the parking lot.

I stood to cross the room to Dev. She watched me walk toward her, shaking her headas I came closer. She stood, smelling of whisky, and pounding her small fists against my chest. "How could you? You knew! Didn't you? Did you know? He's gone, Eric! He's gone and he's never coming back." Her voice began loudly and subsided into a whisper. I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her as more tears began to run freely across her face.

As I guided her out of the bar, I passed the picture of Terry, Sam and Sookie. She was so vibrant, so different from the last time I saw her. Sookie.

***

Sam, Bill, Jason and I were able to convince Sookie to come home. To let us care for her. I honestly felt a slight bit of remorse for ganging up on her, as she accused us of doing, but it was a means to an end. We had her back in her house in Bon Temps within five days.

There was a constant stream of people in and out of the house until finally, Sookie pled with me to keep the doors locked. She would see Amelia and Tara and the baby, Rebecca. Calvin would come by with Jason every few days. And Alcide made an appearance more than once. But she would see no more than three or four at a time, and them only for about 45 minutes. Pam took to sheltering at Bill's home in the daytime while I stayed in the hidey-hole at Sookie's. Sam or Jason would be there every evening when we awoke.

Pam and Amelia would take turns cooking her macrobiotic meals, playing cards with her or just sitting and watching television. The house became suffocating with the heat and the smell of herbs and pungent vegetables. And it was obvious to everyone that she was dying.

During the last week she spent a great deal of time alone in her room with Jason. She didn't want to see anyone else. Sam and Bill loitered in the living room for hours on end. Pam and Amelia reconnected and found a type of solace in each other for the moment.

And I waited. I waited like the dog I had accused Bill of becoming. I waited for her but to ask. I found myself wondering if perhaps a small part of our blood bond still existed. If it still existed in full force, there would be nothing I could do to subdue that pain. I was selfishly grateful that that was not the case.

In the evening, after Jason had fallen asleep on the couch, Pam and Amelia were upstairs, Sam was on the porch and Bill paced back and forth in the small kitchen, I left my seat at the little kitchen table and made my way to Sookie's bedroom. I stood in her doorway for a moment, looking down at her. So different. So small. She placed her book on her chest and rested her hands on top of it.

"It's hard to concentrate," she smiled weakly at me and patted the bed next to her as she scooted a little to her left. I sat on the bed and removed my shoes before sliding down next to her. I wrapped her in my arms and felt almost nothing there. I lay there next to her, listening to her breathing, willing it not to stop. After some time, she shoved my shoulder. "Your gonna sizzle if you stay out here much longer. And I'd like to finish this book before I die," she said with all seriousness, and it made me shiver.

I kissed her on her forehead, and smoothed a few sweaty strands of hair off of her face. "I'll see you this evening," and I made my way to her door.

"I love you, Eric."

"I love you, Sookie," I turned and pulled her door shut behind me.

***

That morning, February 22, 2007, was the last time I saw Sookie alive. I rose from my daytime sleep to find a house full of humans, teary eyed and powerless to help themselves in their grief. Pam and Bill were still asleep across the cemetery. Calvin and Sam stood on the front porch trying to comfort Jason. I could hear him slur out words through his tears, "all alone". Sam's face was wet and blurry, eyes red, as he glanced up at me over his shoulder.

Amelia bumped into me on her way out the door. Though it was full dark now, she had a pair of sunglasses on and her nose was bright red. "I'm so sorry, Eric. You know it was always you," she whispered in my ear as she reached one arm around my shoulders. "I need to be there to tell Pam and Bill. Pam needs me."

"Amelia," I stopped her from walking out the door. "Tell Bill, Jason needs him. But keep him away from me." Her mouth dropped and she looked almost confused. "Do the best you can. I need a moment. Please." She nodded and made her way down the steps and across the cemetery to Bill's house.

I turned and walked through the maze of people and things to Sookie's bedroom. Someone had come and collected her body. The bed had been stripped and remade. It smelled like clean laundry. There was a cold mug of tea on her nightstand, and a dog-eared book, laid open two pages from the end.

I sat there a moment, reading the last two pages of _The History Of Love._ I could only hope that she had read the book before. The only thought that seemed to matter to me was that she had died without finishing her book. It was absurd to even worry about. I felt the tears rolling down, falling. Heard them landing – one, two – on the cover of the book in my hands. I heard Pam's voice saying my name. Suddenly I realized I was on my hands and knees on the floor next to Sookie's bed.

Pam knelt next to me, her eyes rimed in blood. She looked frightened, my child. And I realized that I was weeping freely, without thought or consciousness. I looked at myself, groveling, weak on the floor. I stood, wiped the blood off of my face, merely smearing it in an ugly way, and left the house on Hummingbird Road for the last time.

Her memorial service was held at night, at Merlotte's, as per her wishes. Each of her closest friends and family picked several songs to be played instead of a scripture reading or eulogy. Candles illuminated pictures of Sookie and her family, her friends, displayed all around the bar.

I sat a table near the exit, with my back to the wall, watching everyone. All of these people who took her for granted. Half of them had written her off as crazy. Bill and Calvin flanked Jason all night. Sam shuffled back and forth, trying to keep busy. Pam sat next to me and we were joined periodically by Tara, or Amelia, or one of the waitresses trying to offer comfort. I looked at the service program. The Songs were listed in order by the friend or family member that chose them.

Sam_  
Wreck of The Day_ – Anna Nalick_  
Lose You_ – Pete Yorn_  
Grey Room_ – Damien Rice

Amelia_  
Do You Realize_ – The Flaming Lips_  
Eyes _– Rogue Wave_  
Ain't No Reason_ – Brett Dennen

Tara_  
Answer_ – Sarah McLachlin_  
The Lightning Strike_ – Snow Patrol_  
Angels Or Devils_ – Dishwalla

Jason_  
Sweetness Follows_ – R.E.M._  
Blackbird_ – Evan Rachel Wood

Pam_  
The Last Goodbye_ – Jeff Buckly_  
Life in Rain_ – Remy Zero

E_  
What Sarah Said_ – Death Cab For Cutie_  
Fix You_ - Coldplay_  
I Will Follow You Into The Dark_ – Death Cab For Cutie_  
Cannonball_ – Damien Rice_  
Collapse The Light Into Earth_ – Porcupine Tree

As I listened to _Collapse The Light Into Earth,_ I felt a resolve forming. I would stand up and walk out of this bar. I would rise tomorrow evening and I would feed, and I would live, and I would work. And after some time I would not have to remind myself to do these things. I would simply forget Sookie Stackhouse.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: This is a short chapter, sorry, but writers block is a bitch. This is mostly DevPOV with a bit of Eric at the end. Music in this chapter is _Cheers Darlin'_ by Damien Rice, _Beggin'_ (original) by Frankie Valley and the Four Seasons, _Beggin'_ (cover) by Madcon, and, during Eric's POV, _Shadows_ by God Is An Astronaut.

In personal news, my grandfather, who has had three strokes in the past month, now has pneumonia. He is lucky to be alive, and we don't know how much time we'll have left. He may not make it to my wedding in October, so I will be spending as much time as possible with him. Not saying I won't update. In fact, I get some of my best chapters when I'm under stress... Just be patient and I'll have more for everybody as soon as I can.

Enjoy~

*****

I was sitting at Apothecary for about the millionth time, having a blood at the bar for the very first time. Eric was busy texting Blu for a full list of inventory. It was time to put in an order with Clare and he had convinced me to come along. The surroundings were familiar, while the circumstances still felt like a dream to me. It was very bizarre. Not even surreal. Bizzare. Clare sat a glass of iced tea down on the bar and pulled up a seat next to me.

"Cheers, Darlin'" she said with a smile, as the very song came on over the shop's PA.

"You have some of the weirdest taste in music."

"Just wait," she smiled and sipped her tea. "You seem to be doing ok. You look well. So, how are you _really_?" She whispered the last part and winked in Eric's direction, though we both knew he could hear her. It was a drizzling cool September Sunday night. We were the only vampire clientele this evening.

There was a little shifter girl curled up in a chair in one of the reading niches. I believe she was reading _On The Healing Properties of Vampire Blood_. She had a stack of books in front of her, including _Mixed Species Pregnancy, Shifter Fertility, Labor and the Shift: How Stress Can Effect Your Pregnancy,_ and even_ What to Expect When You're Expecting: Supe Edition._ I had a hard time imagining that tiny thing with a pregnant belly. She couldn't have weighed more than a buck. She probably shifted into a cat or a bird, or something equally as fragile.

"You really wanna talk about this in front of Eric?" I ask accusatorily. I glanced down the length of the bar at him, his eyes still locked on the screen of his PDA, fingers typing away. I took another sip of blood. I wasn't fooled, he was hanging on every word.

"I'm just trying to help a brother out. If you won't tell him, I thought you might unload on me," _he's worried about you, _she mouthed at me.

"I actually can't remember much about it," I lie. Eric raises his eyes from his phone, but doesn't say anything. Then he's back to typing, click, click, click.

"So, let's talk about something else, then. What's different?" Clare probes.

I sit there a moment and stare at the bottles of blood lining the shelves of the fridge behind the bar. _Every fucking thing_, I think. "Not much. I already kept vampire hours before, so… Just a pain in the ass to conduct the non-vamp side of the business. Personally not much changed. Diet," and I raise my glass to her before taking another sip. I hoped I had given her enough to satisfy her curiosity, which wasn't likely, or at least enough to get her to take a hint. I didn't want to talk about this now.

"There it is," she said with a smile as the song changed. It sounded familiar but very old.

"What is this?"

"Frankie Valley," she announced as she began singing along.

"I saw him perform once," Eric announced from the other end of the bar. That was all he said, then another series of clickity clicks.

I finished my blood as I was serenaded by Clare, and Frankie Valley and The Four Seasons. Bizarre, totally bizarre. Clare came around the bar and pulled down another bottle of A positive. Eric lifted his gaze to her and shook his head. She shrugged at me and placed the bottle back in the fridge. I didn't mind, I wasn't very hungry, but Eric usually insisted that I drink plenty of blood, like he was afraid I was wasting away. The song changed again, this time I was sure I recognized the tune. It was the same song, evidently a re-recording.

"This is Madcon, huh?" I asked Clare as she began dancing around behind the bar. She nodded and made her way out into the main floor. I heard Eric chuckle over the music and Clare's wailing. I turned again to look at him. His phone was out of sight, finally, and he was sitting back, relaxed for once, watching Clare cascading across the room. While I was looking at Eric, Clare made her way over to me, and attempted to pull me from my seat. It was hard to protest. Clare just had that kind of personality – genuinely good and happy. If Clare wasn't happy, something was really wrong. She just made you want to be happy with her. She reached her hand out as she sang along:

_Beggin', beggin' you_

_Put your loving hand out baby_

_Beggin', beggin' you_

_Put your loving hand out darlin'_

I stood up and joined her reluctantly. (It was easier than trying to put her off. She was relentless.) She twirled me around the room in some semblance of a sort of swing dance, in total discord with the music. Then she left me there and zeroed in on Eric. This would be interesting.

To my surprise, when Eric joined her in her impromptu dance, the tempo changed. It was like watching a magic trick. They were standing close together, twisting around each other in a time with the music. They looked like they had been competitive dance partners for years. I hadn't had much of a chance to employ my "talent" since before Eric turned me, but now I felt the need to tune in.

Eric was feeling neglected. _Ok_, I thought. He was happy that Clare had seemed to get through to me. Concerned, stressed, and apprehensive about something that was going to happen tonight.

Clare was more difficult to pick up on. She was fuzzy. She always had been, but it was like she'd been building up a barrier over the past few months. The last time we had been in Houston, on a hunch, I had asked her if she was an actively practicing witch. She told me she had family roots in it, and she was just beginning to become interested again. "Job hazard," she'd called it. All I could get from her were feelings of contentedness, and some sense of excitement over whatever was going to happen tonight. I began to worry. Eric and I certainly never discussed the exclusivity of our relationship, but it hurt to think he might be seeking satisfaction elsewhere. Though I didn't get any kind of sexual vibes from either of them, it still nagged at me.

Eric must have picked up on how I was feeling. He was done dancing and at my side in an instant. I realized that I had been standing in the middle of the shop, staring directly at both of them. He gently grabbed my shoulder and caught my eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, when the employee door opened and one of Clare's co-workers came back from his break.

Clare walked up to him and asked him to watch the shop while she took care of some things in her office, then she nodded to Eric. Still gripping my shoulder he guided me along behind Clare as we all walked through the employee door.

I sat down on the little vintage sofa along the back wall of Clare's office. It was small, mod, and green corduroy. She had an old pub table in one corner with a bar stool and a laptop that served as her desk. The room was tiny, and had a cozy feel to it with all the large framed prints, stacks of books, paperwork, an electric teakettle and teacups strewn around on coffee and end tables. In addition to the couch, there was on old, leather club chair in the corner opposite her desk. Eric took the chair and Clare sat at her table. They began going over figures and discussing the new blood flavors available in Taiwan, and maybe we could have some imported. I leaned back and closed my eyes, blocking them out. I remembered many days I spent curled up on this sofa. _The gift of memory's an awful curse, _I thought to myself.

***

I sat in Clare's office, waiting for her to turn over her register to one of her employees who'd showed up late. We were supposed to get together for a late lunch and coffee, though it was getting closer to dinner. I didn't think she'd be able to leave the shop for very long. Eric was back at the loft, dead asleep.

Anytime, these days, that I had a free moment to think, I was obsessed with how little I had known about my grandfather. I couldn't understand why he had kept these things from me. I didn't know if my dad knew what we were, and now I never would.

When Eric got me back to his house the night I found out about Sam, I was a wreck. I had sobered up from crying on the way home from Bon Temps. I was quiet, and angry, and so very tired. He made me some coffee, changed me out of my clothes into pajamas, and retrieved a file from his office.

The only explanation he gave for why he had all of my family history packed away, neat and tidy in a manila folder was that he makes it a point to know who he surrounds himself with. That didn't change the fact that he knew more about my identity than I did. I felt cheated, and I said as much. He sat there, looking at me, not saying anything. I looked back down at the file folder he had placed in my hands. I sensed his regret at keeping this from me. Or maybe it was his regret at getting caught in a lie. I could feel he truly cared that I was in pain, and I felt he wanted to make it stop. I realized that, now, Eric and Pam were the closest thing to Family I had.

I let out a breath and it felt like the first breath I had taken in an eternity. I opened the file and as I read, Eric told me what he knew about Sam personally. He explained why I couldn't shift, and the reason that both my mother and grandmother died in pregnancy. Mixed species pregnancies were apparently never easy, and rarely had a happy ending. Unless both parents were shifters, the offspring would never be able to shift. So, what was I? Fairy-human-dog-freak?

He offered to go with me to see Sam's grave the next night, but I didn't want to go. I wasn't ready. I wanted to go back to Austin. I needed the familiarity, the friends, the distraction. We left the next day.

I was pulled out of my trance by the office door opening. Clare walked in carrying a tiny, dark chocolate coffee cupcake with a single candle sprouting from the middle. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear spacey girl," she chanted at me. I couldn't help but smile. I had tried not to remember it was my birthday today. "You're legal today. How does it feel?" I rolled my eyes at her. "Oh, that's right… you haven't really been conventional about age requirements, huh?" She smiled and set the cupcake down on the coffee table and motioned for me to blow out my candle. Clare was twenty-seven and had sort of fallen into the older sister role since I met her last year. She could be a lot of fun and she could also be a shoulder to cry on.

"Are we going to have to skip dinner? Do they need you up front?" I asked as I pulled the candle out of the chocolaty goo on top.

"Naw, we've got plenty of time. But I was thinking we could order in, if that's ok with you? I'd just like to be available in case disaster strikes again," She smiled her brilliant, life changing, Clare-smile, and I couldn't help but love her for it.

"How about Thai delivery?"

"Sounds amazing!" she squealed and flipped open her phone.

Twenty minutes later the food arrived. We sat curled up on her little couch together, eating out of takeout boxes, talking about what had happened in the past few months. She asked how the Christmas holiday was celebrated at a vampire home, and I filled her in on Eric watching old Christmas movies. He especially liked Elf, which shouldn't have surprised me, but did. Eric was all over the place in his interests and hobbies. He explained to me once that he had a plethora of time periods and experiences to draw on, which I guess is true when you're his age.

Clare had had a few short-lived holiday romances, but was back to being happy by herself. She had acquired a kitten around new years, and she showed me pictures on her phone. It was nice to sit and have a normal conversation, with a normal person. Joss and Alison were constantly fighting with each other, then passionately making up, so I had been keeping my distance in order to preserve my own sanity. I told her how Pam had come home for a few weeks in January as a sort of 'vacation' from her political appointment.

Then Clare asked the question that I had hoped she would avoid. "How are you doing since you found out about everything?" She placed her hand on my shoulder gently.

_Everything_. That was one of the most specifically ambiguous terms I could think of for what had happened in November. "I'm, well… it's interesting," I began. Just then there was a knock on the door. I turned around and looked. I could sense Eric there. He had the worst luck sneaking up on me.

Tonight he was taking me to dinner and to see an off Broadway revival of _Wicked_. He insisted I needed more normal human interactions. (I knew half the reason was that he had a soft spot for Elphaba, The Wicked Witch of The West.) Clare let him in and we chatted for several moments before I said my goodbyes. Eric promised to visit longer tomorrow evening, and we were on our way.

We ate dinner and I felt him watching me, growing less concerned and more pleased with every bite I took. I was good and nearly finished my entire meal. Dinner was quiet and relaxed and I was enjoying the attentions of the gorgeous man sitting across the table from me. It was one of the better birthdays I had experienced since leaving Ireland, and I still felt something pulling me under.

We arrived at the theatre about 40 minutes till curtain call. It was on older theatre and we were dressed casually, along with most of the other patrons. Eric wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a pale grey, cable knit sweater, with his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. I was wearing a loose, light green, knit dress with a plunging v-neck, and a belted black wool cardigan. My hair hung free around my shoulders in the long waves I knew Eric loved. He placed his hand on my low back and guided me to our seats. Of course, they were magnificent. Not too close, not too far. As we approached I saw a tall blond sitting in our row next to two empty seats. My heart jumped a little as she turned and leaned forward over the back of her chair. She wore a grin that could light up the entire auditorium.

"Pam!"

Pam was the third tier of my birthday treat. We sat and talked like long lost sisters, even though it had only been two months since we'd last seen each other. Eric held my right hand while Pam sat to my left and draped her arm around my shoulders. For a little while, I felt surrounded in love.

We made it back to the loft by 12:30. I followed Pam up the stairs to discover her bags already stowed in my old room. She lay down on the bed and motioned for me to lie down next to her. I rested my head on her arm as we both stared up at the ceiling. We remained silent for a few moments until I sensed Eric standing in the doorway. I turned my head towards him and waved. He shook his head, smiled and walked to our bedroom.

Pam snickered softly next to me. "Are you having a pleasant birthday?" she asked me. "I've forgotten what those are like. I remember sweets, I think. Did you get sweets?" She turned to face me and smiled.

"I am having a pleasant birthday. I got a cupcake, with a candle." I lay there, quietly thinking. It was nice to just be with someone. Someone who wasn't analyzing, or trying to fix me. I let m mind drift. It was easy with Pam. I could read her as well as anybody else, but somehow, I didn't care. With Pam, I could sense her anxiety about her work. Her irritation with the mundane, day-to-day dealings with human politicians. Her joy at being near her maker, and her absolute devotion to him. And it didn't matter. She even put off more than a touch of concern for me, but she didn't have any intention of interference. My life was my own and she left me to it. In return, I did the same for her. It was so easy to be around Pam.

"Eric is jealous," she said with glee. "I assure you he's listening to every word we utter. Care to give him something to be jealous of?" She raised her eyebrows at me. It was never like Pam to pass up a chance to make Eric squirm. She was a hopeless flirt. I gently shoved her away. She knew my answer would always be 'no', but it entertained her to try anyway. She grabbed my hand and kissed my pinky. "You've got him wrapped around your little finger, haven't you?"

"That's not exactly true," I huffed.

"More so than either of you would like to believe," as she said it, I heard him turn up the volume on the stereo across the hall. Pam winked at me. "And he doesn't want to hear another word about it," she said loudly with a smirk on her face.

"You are so bad, Pam," I roll over and wrap my arms around her.

"It's because you are so much like her, that he is drawn to you."

I blink and sit up quickly. I try to read where Pam is taking this. She is concerned for her maker, and me as well, but her loyalty lies with Eric. For a moment I'm hurt. Is she implying that Eric doesn't love me for who I am? Then the rational side of me – a tiny voice, by this point – realizes that I should listen. This is important.

"Has he told you about his bonded?" Pam asks quietly.

***

I walk across Clare's office to the aged couch where Devon sits. I've planned this evening carefully. I want Devon to feel secure when the moment comes. She is staring off into nothingness. I take her hand in mine and pull her to her feet as she emerges from her trance.

Clare is sitting, cross-legged, skirts splayed around her, on the coffee table she has just cleared space on. She has her head back, eyes closed, face serene. She is breathing deeply and I sense her beginning to meditate, to will a calming energy into this space. I don't buy into her transcendental idiosyncrasies, but whatever makes her happy. I'm not here to burst anyone's bubble.

My role tonight is Maker, Teacher. Dev looks at Clare, then back to me and shakes her head. "I'm not ready," she whispers, urgently.

"You don't get to decide when you are ready. Your need is to adapt. Gain a skill, a tool of survival." She continues to stare, wide eyed, at Clare's neck. I let my fangs run out and I take Clare's right hand in mine. "It is something you must come to grips with. It is who you are." I raise her wrist to my lips and gently break her skin, feeling the warm rush pulse over my lips and down my throat. I have been well supplied with synthetic blood and I don't require much from Clare, but this serves a purpose, so I continue to feed.

After a few draws more, I cut my tongue on my fangs and lap at Clare's wrist, cleaning and healing her at once. Devonee is kneeling on the floor, looking up at Clare's face, still calm and composed in her meditative state. Perhaps there was some wisdom in her actions. It seemed to calm Dev. She looks at me and I nod my assent.

Dev Stands, leans over Clare in an awkward way, and scents the blood running freely at her throat. She leans in to whisper, and I hear, "Is it all right? Are you ok?" Clare almost hums, "Mhmm," with a smile on her face.

And I watch my child partake of human blood for the first time. She is so gentle and timid. I sense her agony at the thought of feeding, struggle with her blood lust, and her need for more. She begins to overwhelm herself with the new sensation, nearly getting lost in it.

I place my hand on her shoulder to warn her. She continues, slowly draining Clare.

"Devonee, stop!" I command her. She slides her fangs out, and blood gushes from Clare. I tear at my palm with my teeth and place it over her wound, letting our blood mingle. Clare opens her eyes in confusion and I realize that she lost consciousness for a few seconds. I can hear Dev crying on the couch behind me. I expected that reaction.

Clare sits up in my arms shakily.

"I'm so sorry, Clare," Devon sobs. "Is she going to be alright? She asked me, eyes rimed in blood.

"Hey, I'm ok. I just usually have a blood between hosts," Clare says. "Don't cry!" I pick her up and place her on the couch next to Devonee. She catches my eye and we both know how close she came to death or turning. I cross the room to her mini fridge and grab a bottle of True Blood type O negative. "Can you lend me your sweater, honey?" Clare asks Devon, calmly, as she takes the bottle from me. "It's chilly in here."

As Dev removed her cardigan, I glimpsed the tattoo running down her forearm. She had gotten it last spring. It is in French. _Il m'aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnement, a la folie, pas du tout_. It means, _He loves me a little, a lot, passionately, madly, not at all._

I turned my back on those words, trying to ignore the truth in them.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: (Page breaks are now fixed. Sorry!) This is a short one but worth it. Eric's figuring some things out, and when he does he'll let us know what's going. Till then this will have to tide you over. (In reality, I'm just really busy, but I felt the need to submit anyway, and I was able to come to a logical conclusion to the chapter.) There aren't many music references in this one, but I am supplying you all with another play list =) This really tells us how Devon feels about her relationship with Eric. _Clean Breaks_ by Dashboard Confessional, _Trouble_ by Coldplay, _How to Say Goodbye_ by Paul Tiernan, _Screaming Infidelities_ by Dashboard Confessional, _Lover I Don't Have To Love_ by Bright Eyes, _Tiny Vessels_ (again!) by Death Cab For Cutie, _Set The Fire to The Third Bar_ by Snow Patrol, _Volcano _by Damian Rice, _A Lack of Color_ by Death Cab For Cutie, _Run_ by Snow Patrol, and _Someday You Will Be Loved_ by Death Cab For Cutie. Whew! That's only eleven this time =)

Enjoy!

******

After Pam left the loft in Houston to go back to her home in Shreveport, the atmosphere around Devon changed. She kept herself occupied until near dawn every morning. We spent little time together intimately. She was quiet where she had been opinionated, lax in her duties in opposition to her meticulous nature, and she spent most of her free hours in bed or watching television instead of going out with Clare or myself.

After I had spent the requisite amount of time in Houston, we returned to Austin and began work on the small establishment across from The Zone, called Halcyon. Most of the negotiations had taken place via videoconference. Now we would be inspecting the progress and finalizing several details with the contractors in person.

As much as I felt at home in Shreveport, I always reveled in standing in front of my wall of windows overlooking the Colorado River. This was my place to see the teasing light of the sunrise creeping over the horizon just before sleep. This was my brief return to the daylight. I stood there in my blue jeans, buttoning my shirt, in a half-meditative state.

I heard light footsteps treading up the stairs to my room. It was Devon, bringing me my evening blood and several sample materials for the coffee bar remodel. She was wearing her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She had on tight, light colored jeans, black ankle boots, and a loose fitting, grey cashmere sweater with a deep v-neck. It was still chilly for March in Austin and the temperature was dropping to the low fifties at night. She stood to my right with materials in one hand and a warm bottle of blood in the other. It must be cold in here; I could see steam rising from the bottle.

I turned, took the sample materials and walked across the room to my desk. She followed without a word. I sat the stack down in front of me and looked up at her. She stood, bottle thrust toward me, with her mouth turned down into an absent frown.

"Good evening to you, as well," I said with a scowl spreading across my face.

"I'm sorry, it's not you." She tried to upturn the corners of her mouth, not with much success. Still, I loved watching her lips move. I found myself staring, while she spoke, much more frequently lately. She had kept herself from me since her birthday three weeks ago. I was less than pleased. Though I was the one who told her that we would be together until it stopped making sense. Perhaps it had stopped making sense to her. This entire time she had been telling me of her frustration over Joss and Alison's constant turmoil and the fact that she felt torn between the two. Alison was her friend, but Joss had been her friend, her former lover and the closest thing to a brother she'd had. Joss had been her _lover_… "He keeps asking me to come stay with him, and I know it's just to irritate Ali. She'd be furious. But really, what do they expect? She wants me to throw away a relationship with him that I've had for years, and he's sunken to using me to manipulate her. Neither one of them is very appealing to me right now. It's exhausting even thinking about it. Fuck!"

I swiveled my chair toward the samples on the desk and took a sip of my blood. I sat silently, expecting Dev to either go on about the human drama, or walk away. She did neither. "I like that one, personally," she said, pointing to a sample of wallpaper. It was dark grey with large graphic roses in shades of black, chocolate brown, and silver.

Several hours later, I was saying goodbye the GC as we were leaving the wreck of the half demolished coffee bar. Devonee was standing on the front steps, staring at the heavy door. She had her arms tightly crossed against the cold, and a scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. She had let her hair out at some point during the meeting and it was tangling around itself in the chilly wind.

I watched the man jog briskly back to his car across 6th Street. I turned toward Dev, and realized what it was that had caught her attention. To the right of the door lay a few broken shards of window – glass gleaming brightly in the traffic lights. I took several steps to stand behind her and wrapped my right arm around her waist; I let my chin rest on the top of her head. She held her right hand out in front of her, palm up. The same hand I had healed for her, late one night in August, two years ago. I took her hand with my left one and turned her around to face me.

She reached her left hand up to brush a stray hair from my face. I grabbed her hand and guided it away from my hair towards my mouth. I smelled the blood running beneath the surface of her skin, and then I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I want to taste you again."

***

We spent the rest of the night in bed. I felt replenishment and release simultaneously. She lay, half sprawled across my chest, breathing deeply and quietly. I cut my tongue on a fang and began licking her wrist, from where I had just fed. There were several other places across her body that my tongue would have to revisit soon, and without protest. I had drunk deeply tonight.

I felt her shiver against me and I pulled the blanket up around her. "How many women have you had before me?" she asked softly into the darkness of my bedroom. I was surprised for but a moment. Then I began to chuckle at the thought. Over 1000 years of women! How could she expect me to ever remember such an amount?

"There have been many. Why would you want to know a thing like that?" I asked softly, my lips still pressed into her wrist. She pulled her arm back to her chest and repositioned herself so she was lying next to me. I spied a bite mark on her hip that I would move on to next.

"I just don't know much about your past, apart from Pam and… and Sam," she paused for a moment. "Who did you love? Who was important to you?"

"What makes you think these women were anything more than a meal to me?" I asked almost teasingly. "I wasn't always privileged to buy my blood at any restaurant. Many of them were a source of survival. Which is not to say they did not enjoy the exchange." I flashed my most arrogant smile at her.

"Hasn't anyone ever changed your life before?" She looked at me almost urgently.

_If she had not entered my life and changed it the way she has, you would not know me. I would be as different to you then as the night is to the day. Would we share a bed? Would you be alive? Would we even have met? No._

"No," I say with finality in my voice. This is not open for discussion.

"Bullshit, Eric," she said softly before turning to face the window.

***

The following evening I awake to find the bed empty next to me. The sun is still shining through the clouds, hanging low over the river. Spring showers are on their way it seems. Rather than gaze at the Sun in his kingdom of clouds, I walk to the stairs and look down trying to locate Devon. She is curled up on the couch with her laptop. She's wearing the same clothes from yesterday, with her hair piled atop her head in what resembles a distressed topknot.

I quickly pull on a t-shit and jeans and quietly make my way down the stairs. For once she is too involved in what she is doing to notice as I stand behind her, reading the words on her screen.

There was an old newspaper archive open and tabs titled _The Fae War_, _Nevada Vampires' Conquest for Louisiana, _and _Telepath's Disappearance Causes Trouble for Area 5 Sheriff._ The article she was reading was a Shreveport newspaper's printing of Sookie's obituary. A blue box sat opened in her lap and the tip of her thumb sparkled with the ring as she moved her hand to scroll down the page.

I felt the growl start in the back of my throat before I heard it. She sat dead still in front of me, her hands hovering over the keys. I calmly reach my hand down to retrieve the ring and its box. I shove them into my pocket and walk to the back of the room, staring at the sun disappearing behind the hills on the other side of the river.

I heard her soft footsteps approaching. "It would be best for you not to touch me right now," I instruct her. "Not that you ever listen to my warnings. I recall advising that it would be unwise of you to explore."

"I live here now. It's not exploring when it's my house," she said softly.

"Not your house. Though it may be where you live at the moment. What makes you presume to have the right to…" I placed my hand on the glass, now wishing for the skies to darken. I needed the space, the time to think. "You can find another place to sleep tonight. I'm sure Joss will let you in." I heard her inhale sharply as though she had been slapped. She took a few steps back then stopped. "Leave! Now!"

"No. Why? Because I found a ring? I guess what you're telling me is that 'this', whatever 'this' is, doesn't make sense anymore. How convenient for you. But I'm not leaving."

I turned around and crossed the distance to her in two strides. I grabbed her firmly by the arm and walked her to the door. The sun was setting on the other side of the house, so there was little danger of exposure now. I shoved her purse and shoes at her, opened the door and pushed her back onto the steps. I stood there, in the doorway watching the tears silently spilling over her cheeks. "I need a few hours," I managed to choke out. I watched her turn and half-jog to her SUV. I thought of Sookie pulling out of the Fangtasia parking lot for the last time. Dev looked at me accusingly through the car window as she pulled out of the driveway.

As the door shut I sunk to my knees. I sent my fist through the pane of glass, sending shards cascading across the front steps. I couldn't help thinking of what would have become of a human that betrayed my privacy forty years ago. She would not have walked out of this house.

***

I closed the door to Dev's old room at the loft. I had carried Clare up the stairs and deposited her on the bed, making sure she had her phone and a bottle of blood nearby. I was loath to send her home alone after her ordeal earlier this evening. I glanced through the door to my bedroom at Dev sitting on our bed. Quiet, head hung low, she sat in her nightgown, shaking.

I stood just outside the doorway. I wanted to tell her that emotions were useless, that what she had learned was necessary to her survival, but things weren't done that way anymore. Vampires these days had a better grip on the remnants of their humanity. We weren't taboo anymore, we were commonplace. Ordinary. It was far more common to encounter a young one who had never had to fight, steel, deceive and kill to ensure it's own survival. I suppose you would call this progress, but sometimes I missed the power play. Deep down there was a part of me that thrived on the hunt and the battle. I shook my head and stepped forward into the room.

This girl that sat before me was so frail in her appearance and actions, yet I had seen the depth of her strength. Now her body, deceptively fragile, held the capacity for so much more. Her shoulders shivered and stiffened in waves with each ragged, useless breath. Though I wanted to reassure her that her predatory instinct should be cultivated, I knew she would hear nothing of it.

Though the loss of her humanity had ended our blood exchanges, it had not diminished her appeal. There would always be an 'otherness' about her, as though she were displaced from some alternate reality. Her scent still consisted heavily of fairy. It was a constant tease. _Touch, but don't taste_. I climbed up on the edge of the bed, kneeling behind her, and wrapped her in my arms.

I had been careful to keep our intimacy to a minimum after her turning. I had not wanted to confuse her. I held an authority over her now, and I did not want her to mistake that for manipulation on my part. But I was finding it harder with Dev than it had been with Pam. Pamela had adjusted miraculously well, happy to be liberated from the confines of a young lady of society. Devonee was constantly in opposition to what she was. That was unequivocally and irrevocably my fault.

But I couldn't un-ring a bell.

I breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, no longer warmed by her pulse, but still intoxicating. I bent my head and ran my nose along the line of her throat, from earlobe to shoulder. I found myself gripping her more tightly. She had stopped shaking at some point during my thoughtless caressing. I saw a single tearstain streaking red down her cheek and I kissed it softly. She reached between us to begin undressing me and I stopped her, having the presence of mind to get up and close the door.

We fucked quietly for long moments that seemed to stretch into hours. There was urgency in every movement, every grasp, every grope. I couldn't hold her tightly enough, and when we were finished, I hungered for more.

She laid there, next to me, her tangled waves of hair cascading across my stomach. Her breathing had finally stopped as her subconscious mind processed the uselessness of the action. We were perfectly still together. I had turned up my iPod dock at some point. There was the most somber, lover's mixture of music filling the room, and it felt very out of place to me after such passionate sex.

"What is this play list, Lover?" I ask as I play absently with her abundant, brunette tangles. _Run_ was playing now, in the background.

"I made it last Spring. I like to listen to it every now and then."

"Is it all so melancholy?" I ask as I reach to take the iPod off the dock.

"That's a matter of opinion. I like these songs. Listening to them brings me back to earth." She nestles her body closer to mine and drapes her arm across my chest. I look at the play list title on the screen. _Unrequited…_ I look back down at Devonee lying next to me. Once again I am faced with the words neatly printed along the skin of her forearm. "Il m'aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnement, a la folie, pas du tout." She scowled up at me as I read the words aloud. "You know that isn't true," I whisper to her.

"Which part?"


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: In this Chapter I use the song _Better Than Life_ by People in Planes and a reference to the music video for _What Sarah Said_ by Death Cab For Cutie. I have also used an except from the last scene of _House M.D.: Dying Changes Everything_. (At least when True Blood is over I'll have season six of House to look forward to. I love House for the same reasons Pam does. And I think Hugh Laurie is HOT) Please enjoy a little 'Eric tangent' in the middle. Also pay attention when Eric advises Chris not to drive while intoxicated (glamoured). NEVER drink and drive. I speak from the experience of losing a loved one. (Now I'm off my Soap Box)

Enjoy :)

***

I rode east in my Land Cruiser, in a daze, toward Epoch. South, the sky was the purple and indigo after sunset – clear and brilliant. North, it looked like the end of days. Grey and black clouds were quickly rolling in, and lightning lit the sky every few seconds. I watched the traffic light above me. Red. I watched it so long I saw spots as the car began moving again. I parked across the street from the coffee shop and sat there as the engine began to cool. The lighting was getting closer and the trees were beginning to blow back and forth in the wind.

I looked out the car window at the warm little building across from me. I saw people madly collecting their electronics and rushing in the door of the coffee shop from the porch. The lanterns outside were swinging in time with the trees lining the little residential street. There was a line forming at the counter. Friends were gathered at tables and couches, taking photos, playing chess, studying.

I looked back down at the phone in my hands. I didn't know who I was expecting would call me. Maybe _I_ should call someone. I hated sitting alone in Epoch on nights like this, amongst the groups of people sharing their lives with each other. I scrolled through my contacts. Mostly business contacts. Then, of course, Eric. There was Ali – no. Joss… - no. Pam… I could call Pam. She wouldn't come to my rescue, but maybe she would listen. But listen to what?

I grabbed my purse and slipped into my boots, holding the phone to my ear. It rang five times as I collected myself and exited the car. I heard the silence as someone picked up on the other end. Then I heard Pam's voice directed away from the receiver, "Then clean it up! Imbecile…" then into the phone, "To what do I owe this interruption, dear waif?"

"'Lovely to hear from you, Devon. How are things between you and Eric? I so enjoyed planting the seed of doubt in your mind'," I answered back, sarcastically.

"Whatever are you speaking of?" She sounded distracted. It must have been her breakfast time. "Seed of doubt? Explain."

"That business about Sookie Stackhouse. You tell me just enough to make me wonder. You know, wonder what Eric really wants with me. And he sure as hell isn't opening up. And…" Here the tears started brimming. By now I was sitting at a deserted table in front of the coffee shop, watching the rain begin to fall a few fat drops at a time.

"Why ever would you expect him to 'open up'? It's not in his interest to let his feelings be known, let alone _have_ feelings," she paused for a few seconds. I didn't know if she was waiting for me to speak, but I said nothing. "You confronted him of his bonded?"

"In a manner of speaking," I choked out under my breath. I could hear her hiss on the other end of the line.

"What makes you play this game with him? Straightforward. That is how you deal with Master. He respects bluntness, not manipulation. What did you say to him?" She sounded more than slightly defensive. Maybe I shouldn't have called.

I sat quietly for a moment, alone at my table, head resting on my arm in front of me. I didn't know if Pam knew about the engagement ring, though I had my suspicions. I let out a long sigh. "I asked him who he loved before me, and he denied ever loving anyone. I found something of hers this morning and I was looking around online for info on her when he woke up tonight." I held my breath, waiting for Pam to reach through the phone and choke the life out of me.

To my surprise, I heard a quiet chuckle on the other end. "And he asked you to leave? And you did not. And he made you leave. And now you are not speaking to one another. You would be safe to return home now, I think."

"Pam," I began to protest.

"Trust me, go home," and she hung up. I sat there staring at my phone for a few seconds. I smelled cigarette smoke behind me, and turned to look.

"Jose!" I jumped up and was rewarded with a warm smile and an equally warm hug.

***

I shot off a txt message to Pam before taking to the sky. Some thing to the effect of: _Tell Devonee to return home. I'm not sure when I will return. Location to follow. DON'T CALL. I will be in touch when necessary. E._ I could easily make Houston within minutes, though I knew my actions would be regrettable. I had always wanted to taste Clare, and tonight would be the perfect opportunity. I had no idea if Dev had taken me seriously and called upon Joss for comfort, though it would not be hard to convince myself it was so. No, I would not go to Houston tonight.

I hovered aimlessly above the city for several minutes before deciding to head east. The clouds were coming in from the northwest and it was not long before I had made my way far ahead of their progress. I resolved myself to calm down and devise a plan of action. But, as I flew, the tactical side of my mind was silent. A plan of action? For what? I wasn't going into battle. No great code had been breached, no laws broken. Only my pride had been injured, though previous offenders had paid dearly for such an act (such that no one was ever aware of the slight, yet there was a noticeable absence of said party from that point on). This was why I had refused her my blood. I couldn't let her influence me further. Such emotions had clouded my judgment before, and I can't say they brought me anything but grief in the end.

All this contemplation got me nowhere as I flew east. I was no closer to knowing my next move than I had been back in Austin. If only she would give me a reason to end it all.

Even that statement was ambiguous in my own mind. I shook my head and reached for my phone as it vibrated in my pocket. Pam. Of course.

_You did not say not to text, Master. Shall I have blood on hand for you?_

My mind reeled at the implications as I found myself, indeed, headed to Shreveport. Was I so predictable now? I thought again of Devon's question last night. _Hasn't anyone ever changed your life before?_ More than you know, little girl. I had fooled myself into thinking nothing had changed after her death. Now I saw myself as if in a dream. The progression of my existence these past forty years had begun the moment she ended.

***

It took one week for me to lay to rest (so to speak) the financial end of things to do with the telepath. Her funeral was paid for by the small life insurance policy she had taken out with her brother after their grandmother's death. Jason Stackhouse saw not one hospital bill. An anonymous philanthropist had taken care of the mounting medical debt. Dying slowly wasn't cheap. I was tempted to let him handle everything himself as payment of a debt I felt he owed his sister. She had already forgiven him that, and so it was taken care of. Jason asked Bill to look after the house, as he was so close to Sookie. Bill reluctantly accepted, _"I'll do the best I can from Texas, Jason."_ There were several outstanding bills to be paid, phone disconnected, insurance canceled. There was the marker to be purchased.

Then, true to my word, it was back to work as usual. Life as I knew it, so to speak.

I found myself short of temper and long of appetite. But for a few waitresses leaving unexpectedly (I remember something about a tray sticking out of a wall after I had thrown it), and a slow night or two, business was running smoothly. I found time to otherwise occupy myself. Though returning to fangbangers' homes was simple enough, it lacked a certain thrill. More than once I was seen bringing a girl back into my office despite the implied illegality. Risk vs. reward makes the snack all the tastier.

I had found an exceptional treat tonight. Her name was Christian. How delightfully ironic. She was seated two tables across from me, with a group of young women and their effeminate male companion. They were having a rather banal conversation. Nothing noteworthy. It was her dress that drew my eye to her across the room, completely juxtaposed to the typical patrons. She had dark blond hair running in two unruly braids down to the middle of her back. She wore a grey t-shirt with a plunging scoop neck and a knee-length black skirt, belted just below her breasts. No bra. I smiled. And she looked bored. I smiled broader. The waitress brought her a scotch, neat. I began listening a bit closer to the conversation going on around her.

"Well she could have changed. It's a little embarrassing sitting her next to her. I mean, Christian, you stick out like a sore thumb."

"She's just hoping that hot photographer is going to ask her back for some _additional_ shots. Huh, Chris?"

The girl in question took as sip from her glass as her cheeks flamed. "I came straight from the job. I didn't have time to change," she spoke mildly. "Besides, I'm the one who should be embarrassed. You guys all look like your ready to suck cock. Even Alan. Not like you've got a runway show tomorrow. Cheap does not even begin to cover it," she hissed back at the first one (who looked like Megan Fox in a gothic/all American girl get up).

"Sorry, honey, but not all of us get to lay our photographers." Then Ms. Fox added under her breath, "Everyone knows he's married with a kid." Gasps and giggles erupted. Christian downed what was left of her drink, and began gathering her things.

"Obviously, Chris didn't know that." The second girl (only marginally less trashy than the Megan look-a-like) gave Christian a sympathetic smile. "Isn't that what this job's really about anyway? Getting used for exceptional monetary compensation? Don't go."

"Just going to the ladies room."

She walked past my table and back behind the bar, looking for the women's washroom. I was there before she had rounded the bar counter. I took a step forward and reached for her elbow. She looked up and met my eyes. Lovely.

"The facilities are out of service for the evening. May I show you to the employee washroom?" I smiled my warmest smile and moved my hand from her arm to her waist.

"Thanks, but I don't really need the restroom, just somewhere to settle down," she volunteered.

"Oh, of course," I said. "Your friends are not being pleasant this evening. Are you very upset?" I sent my influence across the connection I had made as I steered her towards the back of the bar. She burst into tears. "Shh. Hush, now." I quickly ushered her into my office and locked the door behind us. I moved her in front of my desk, placed both of my hand on her waist, and gently lifted and sat her down on top. She was quietly sniffling now. "You will wait here. I am going to pour us a drink," I instructed her as I stepped back to grab a single glass and bottle from a shelf against the wall. I poured a shot of scotch into the bottom of the glass and handed it to the girl.

"But, where's yours?" She asked after the liquid in her glass was gone. I took the empty glass from her and sat it down next to the bottle on the shelf.

"I don't drink… alcohol." I said quietly while holding her gaze locked onto my eyes. I let my fangs come down and I smelled her fear begin to bubble to the surface. "Tell me about your job," I asked quietly, stroking her arm reassuringly. I did not relish the fear in her blood. Pleasure tastes so much better.

"I'm a model," she said quietly, almost a whisper, as she began to blush. "I used to teach classical dance at a little school in Charleston, but I was really too tall to dance professionally. One of my students' relatives was a model scout and he offered me a job. I've only been doing this for about eighteen months now." Her face held a sadness then. "I like the more artistic jobs, though. Like with Mitchell, I'm going to be part of an exhibition on 'exploitation'," she said this with actual air quotes. "Very avant garde. Something about how the media exploits sex and beauty, and what it actually does to the subject. Some bullshit."

Here she broke out into genuine tears. Not sobs, just a few tears rolling slowly down each blushing cheek. Quite beautiful really. "This… Mitchell… is being exploitive?" I brushed her a tear away with my thumb. "I do not exploit women. I enjoy them for what they are. And you are beautiful. I could certainly enjoy you."

She nodded meekly as I continued brushing the tears away. "Yes. You seem nice."

_Not really_, I thought to myself. I leaned in and gently kissed her jaw, just below her ear. I was standing quite close to her now and I felt her part her knees in front of me, allowing me a step closer. I could hear the song _Better Than Life_ drifting through the walls of the club, the beat fast and steady. I curled one hand around her cheek, pulling her face closer to mine, and let the other search between her legs. She was wearing nude thigh highs but that was the extent of it. She moaned as I stroked up and down her inner thigh teasingly. I removed my hand from beneath her skirt and used it to scoot the fabric up her thighs. I let my tongue linger around her neck and the base of her ear. My fangs extended fully and I scraped them across her carotid artery.

She sharply inhaled and held a breath. As her arousal had been growing I had loosened my influence. Now I tightened the reins once more. "Have you ever been bitten?" I whispered into her ear.

"Can't… leave marks," she was breathing heavily now. "Bad for work."

I stopped moving my hands and pulled my head back to look into her eye, still mesmerized. "And what if I promise not to leave any marks? Hmm? Not a single one." I made sure to slide just the softest implication of sex into my voice.

With that she slid down off the desk top, pulling her shirt free of her skirt. I felt my grin spreading. Just the slightest cat and mouse game was enough to get me excited after all the eager Megan Fox look-a-likes throwing themselves at me night after night. I placed one hand on an ample breast beneath her newly liberated shirt, and the other on her hip, pulling her backward with me toward the couch.

I sat back, lifting her into my lap, straddling me. I pulled her mouth down to mine. She tasted bittersweet, like the liqueur she had consumed. Her breath was hot and wet. As she lightly touched her tongue to one of my fangs, I heard my phone ring. I encouraged her to continue kissing me as I pulled the offending technology from my pocket. I glanced sideways at the Caller ID. Pamela. I hit ignore.

With a moan from the girl I let my fingers find their way back beneath her skirt. She leaned her head back and I let my lips play lightly across her throat, listening intently to the sounds she emitted.

"Master," came Pam's voice from the other side of the door. I cursed under my breath, and held one finger to the girl's lips, indicating silence.

"Pamela, I did not answer my phone. That means I am busy."

"We have company this evening, Master. Victor and Sandy await you at your table," she replied in an all-too-chipper voice. "They wanted to meet you in your office, but I advised against it. Is there something you wish me to clean up before you bring them here?"

In a moment, the girl was seated in the space next to where I had been, and I was unlocking the door to admit Pam. "Straighten her up and bring her back in the front. Leave her at the table of whores." I turned my head to Christian. "You will tell them that the restrooms are filthy and you want to leave. Do not drive, you are too _intoxicated._ Pam will call you a cab." She looked positively crushed, but that wasn't my problem.

Victor was my problem.

***

I found myself outside the small, antiquated looking town homes that Pam lived in. I walked up the steps to her front door and, rather than ring the doorbell, I turned the knob and let myself in. I emerged from the night into a small spotless kitchen. Pam could be seen trough a small archway, curled into the corner of her couch wearing skillfully fitted blue jeans and a royal blue dolman sweater. Se was not alone. I smelled a human in the house.

I walked through the kitchen into the living area. Pam smiled up at me. "Master. I thought you would be here sooner. I had my human run out to the store for a bottle of Royalty. It is on the kitchen counter." She motioned with her hand and turned back to her phone.

"Who are you text messaging?" I asked, ignoring the reference to the blood.

"I'm doing what you commanded me and trying to get Devon to return home, before she does something you'll both regret."

I sat down on the opposite end of the couch with a huff. Pam flipped her phone closed and let her eyes wander across my body with criticism. I wasn't sure why. My hair was ruffled from the flight, but I wasn't exactly ragged. I was wearing a slightly over-sized black henley and blue jeans… and no shoes. I realized that was where Pam's gaze rested.

"I think you left some boots here," she turned her gaze away with a slight sniff. I heard footsteps and turned to see a young woman walking down the stairs into the room. She looked to be about Clare's age and very self-possessed. She nodded to me politely, and sat on the floor against the couch, just in front of Pam. I realized they were watching something on the television.

An old man stands in a room with a young woman sitting at a table.

"_You thought something would change?"_

"_She almost died. Because of that job. Yeah, I thought…"_

"_Almost dying changes nothing. Dying changes everything."_

Then the old man walks into an empty office where a younger man is gathering things to leave.

"_I'm sorry. I know I didn't try to kill her. I know I didn't want her hurt. I know it was a freak accident, but I feel like crap and she's dead because of me."_

"_I don't blame you. I wanted to. I tried to. I must have reviewed Amber's case file a hundred times to find a way… But it wasn't your fault."_

"_Then, we're okay. I mean, I know you're not, but… Maybe I can help."_

"_We're not okay. Amber was never the reason I was leaving. I didn't want to tell you because I was trying… like I always do… to… to protect you. Which is the problem. You spread misery because you can't feel anything else. You manipulate people because you can't handle any kind of real relationship. And I've enabled it. For years. The games. The binges. The middle of the night phone calls. I should have been the one on the bus, not… You should have been _alone_ on the bus. If I've learned anything from Amber it's that I have to take care of myself. We're not friends anymore, House. I'm not sure we ever were." _

Pam reached for the remote to pause the program. "I have always thought this Gregory House reminded me of you. Well, I mean if you were feeble, with an injury. And human, of course. Which you are not. I like him. He's deliciously tactless."

I hadn't seen any tactlessness in the situation. All I had seen was a sad, lonely old cripple. I shook my head at Pam in confusion, and she just smiled at me. Her phone buzzed and she flipped it open to scan the text quickly. "Well she could be doing worse," she chuckled. Then she angled her screen towards me as she said, "She's getting another tattoo. I hope it isn't a giant E."

***

After a few peanut butter fraps and a guilty cigarette, I found myself back at Jose's shop. It was his night off, but it always felt like a relaxed place to hang out, and he was trying to talk me into another tattoo. The shop wasn't very busy and there was a music video DVD from the early 2000's playing on the screen out front. It was one of my favorite oldies bands.

"Besides, why are you out all by yourself? I haven't seen you in months now. Joss says you hooked up with your boss?" he gave me a lighthearted smirk, then a full-blown smile when I didn't answer him. "So, have you seen the new Final Fantasy yet?" he asked, changing the subject. He was totally into video games, oldies music, vintage art, and women. But he was a decent guy, and I'd never let anyone else touch me with a tattoo gun.

I had been avoiding the exact reasons I was out alone tonight. I didn't want to talk about Joss and Ali, and why they were off my list for now. And I certainly didn't want to try to figure out how to explain Eric and what we were to each other, if there even was an 'us' anymore. I just listened to Jose talk and added a comment here or there. Before long he was asked for an opinion on a sketch another artist was preparing, and I glanced up at the video playing on screen.

A girl was carving words into her thigh, painting them across the walls, writing them in lipstick on the mirror. I hopped up from where I was and went to sit behind the computer at the front desk. "Mind if I…" I didn't bother finishing my question as Jose waved his consent. I did a quick search and had the text and translation jotted down on a scrap of paper in just a few moments.

I leaned over Jose's workstation, where he was critiquing another sketch. I waved the paper in front of him. "This is what I want."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: So this one just came to me very clearly over the course of the day. I just love it when that happens. All Eric in this one. Songs used or referenced ar as follows: _Smooth Criminal_ (cover) by Alien Ant Farm, _I can't Decide_ by The Scissor Sisters, and _God Put A Smile On Your Face_ by Coldplay.

Please Enjoy! (")

*******

I smoothed my hair back and brushed off my shirt, though I knew there was nothing I could do to keep Victor and Sandy from smelling the girl on me. I could guess why they had come. To offer their 'condolences' and those on behalf of the king. More so, to check up on me. I had let my emotions take the best of me after Sookie had left, publicly searching in anger and frustration. Yet again, I had behaved unbecoming of my status as Sheriff when Sookie was found to be ill. I truly was ready to put those days and indiscretions behind me. Best get this meeting over with.

As I opened the door to my office and watched Pam usher the girl out the back door, the music from the club hit me like walking into a brick wall. Ever since… well, for the last few weeks, my consciousness had been split – like walking suddenly from a clear night into the fog, and back out again. It was irritating to the point of madness.

I vaguely recognized the song playing over the PA on KDED as I walked out into the main floor.

_Annie, are you OK_

_Will you tell us that you're OK_

_There's a sign at the window_

_That he struck you_

_A crescendo, Annie_

_He came into your apartment_

_He left the bloodstains on the carpet_

_Then you ran into the bedroom_

_You were struck down_

_It was your doom_

"Victor," I inclined my head to him by way of greeting and leaned down to lightly kiss Sandy on either cheek. "Sandy, a pleasure." She at least offered me a small, tight-lipped smile. Victor simply sat and turned his head away, rather than acknowledge my presence in my own place of business. _Dick_.

I stood with my palms down on the table in front of me, waiting for someone to get things started. Victor had already exhausted what little patience I yet possessed this evening. Sandy, ever the diplomat, spoke first.

"Our King is grieved for your loss. It was understood that you had once been strongly bonded to Miss Stackhouse. And, of course, the _Knife_."

"Of course," Victor interjected. Sandy glanced sidelong at him with an expression that said her tolerance was wearing thin.

"Is there anything you require that we may offer by way of condolence? More time off? Perhaps an assistant, someone to see that the Area runs smoothly during your time of…" she looked almost perplexed at the very idea of it. "Mourning."

Best to cut the crap, so to speak. "Have you found my ministrations lacking, Sandy?"

Victor gave a snort.

Sandy tensed. She liked having a native (as native as I could be considered) in control of some part of the state. It helped her to better understand the local politics, and keep things running smoothly with less distaste toward Felipe. "Perhaps a leave of some length is in order. You certainly deserve it. Your Area has brought in nearly double the revenue of Area 1 in the past six months alone," she referred to Victor's Area – New Orleans – and he was visibly stung. Sandy smiled brightly at his reaction. She was no fan of Victor's.

"As I recall, Mr. Northman took a leave of some time last year. He was supposed to be married to his human woman, and for some reason she left him, I believe. How long did you search for her, Northman? Honestly, I had expected you would have kept her on a shorter leash." I seethed as quietly as I could, though my fangs descended slowly. I was just able to keep the murderous growl from my throat. Victors smile widened at my response.

We were interrupted briefly as a very timid human waitress placed bottles of True Blood down in front of Victor and Sandy. My _guests_. I thought the term with contempt. I heard the music in the background once more and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the irony of it as I instructed the waitress to take away the mediocre blood and bring us a bottle of Royalty and three glasses. No sense not rubbing in my prosperity in front of Victor.

_I can't decide_

_Whether you should live or die_

_Oh, you'll probably go to heaven_

_Please don't hang your head and cry_

_No wonder why_

_My heart feels dead inside_

_It's cold and hard and petrified_

"I am handling my Area responsibilities perfectly well on my own, Sandy. Does Felipe have a differing opinion?" I asked as I filled, first her glass, then my own, leaving Victor to serve himself.

"There have been circulations you should know about, Eric. Certain… well, you know that you are a reflection on the King here in Louisiana. That being said, I'll just ask you," she sat down her glass of blood and both she and Victor stood. "Have you been feeding in public?" It was taboo even to suggest that a Vampire in public office would be so indiscrete.

My eyes began to smolder, though Sandy appeared non-pulsed. Victor took a step towards me. "Screwing fangbangers is one thing, Northman, and beneath your status, I might add, but," Sandy held her hand up to silence him.

"I am not concerned with whom you feed from. It makes little difference. There are some of us who have no standards," here she glanced over at Victor. "Though I have a feeling you are not counted among them." _Thank you, Sandy_. "What does concern me is the law. Do you realize haw many raids have been scheduled for your establishment? I don't suppose you do, as I have seen fit to step in the way. But hear me now, Eric. You are replaceable." She said it smoothly and calmly, though she might as well have yelled, "Watch your ass, Northman!"

"This is a warning," I grunted.

"This is a warning. Though next time I hope we meet under more pleasant circumstances. With pleasanter company," she added merrily as she offered me her delicate fingers. I leaned down and quickly brushed my lips across them, before placing my hand on her back and seeing her to the exit of my bar. Victor followed her outside like the dog that he was. I couldn't suppress a snarl as he turned around and grinned widely, waving in a very un-vampire-like way.

Pam appeared at my arm. "The day will come, Master."

"No doubt, Pam. I am only disappointed that it will most likely be another that has the privilege of staking the mother fucker."

***

I sat in silence as Pam and her human continued to watch this _House_. They were becoming ever more friendly with one another. I could remember a time when I would have reveled in the promise of the show they would no doubt be putting on tonight. As it was, I was bored. My anger at Dev had ebbed to a dull throbbing irritation. How impertinent. How presumptuous. My home, my possessions, my past, _my_ business. No doubt her stubbornness would keep her enthralled with the idea of discovery. Hadn't I promised myself long ago that I would no longer let Sookie interfere with my existence?

I sat there next to two beautiful women, clearly enjoying one another, and I realized how Sookie had _completely_ derailed my existence. Gradually and steadily over the past forty years, I had changed. Was it the way she had changed me in life that had continued its metamorphosis, or was it her death that had been perpetually molding me? I had gotten a little of my lust for life back when I had allowed Devonee to enter into the equation. She was so much the same as my Sookie, and yet so refreshingly different.

I couldn't believe I was being this brutally honest with myself. I guiltily glanced over at Pam, somehow afraid that she was aware of my private revelations. No chance of that. Pam was thoroughly _busy_. I silently stood and walked to her bedroom to retrieve an extra pair of boots I had left there. I would return to my home here in Shreveport for my daytime sleep, and fly back to Austin as soon as the sun set tonight. I returned to the living room to sit and slip the boots on. There were definitely fewer clothes on both women, though they were still what some would consider 'decent'.

I stood to leave and waited for a few moments until Pam became aware of my intentions. "Master," she straightened up on the couch, her mouth slightly tinged with blood.

"Good evening, Pam," I waved my hand dismissively and she went back to her meal as I exited the town home. I had a few hours yet till the dawn crested the horizon. I walked alone along the dimly lit streets of Shreveport. Down the street a few blocks, stood another old town home that had been converted into a pub. It had a slightly Irish, and overtly Vampire feel to it. It was called Stoker's (an obscure Dracula reference). I opened the door to the dimly lit room and stalked toward the bar. I did enjoy the choice of music being played, and allowed myself to smile.

_Where do we go, nobody knows_

_I've gotta say I'm on my way down_

_God give me style and give me grace_

_God put a smile upon my face_

The bartender, who appeared to be no older than 16 (I'm _sure_), swiftly placed a napkin before me and asked for my preference of blood. "Right away, Mr. Northman," she replied with a knowing smile as she turned to heat my blood.

"Do we know each other?"

"Oh, I've been around for a while," she said coyly. She walked to the other end of the bar to refresh a human's drink, then swiftly returned to place my warmed bottle on the napkin in front of me. That was when I placed her. She had gone by the name Lyric the last time I had seen her, as she had been turned while touring with her punk band in England. The accent was almost gone, but her voice held the same melody I remembered from all those years ago. She had briefly had a relationship with Clancy before his final death, and had remained a fixture at Fangtasia for many years afterward. Her smile brightened as she saw the recognition spread across my face.

"Lyric," I began. She held up a hand.

"I go by my birth name now. Imogene Stoker. Pleasure to meet you," she smiled brilliantly.

I raised my eyebrow. "So this place…?" Not a Dracula reference after all.

"All mine. There wasn't much competition after you left the Area. Lets face it, you were the main draw at the club."

"It still lines my coffers comfortably in my absence, I assure you. Though this place is certainly something to be proud of, Imogene," I let her new-old name roll around on my tongue curiously. She smiled again and I allowed her to return to her work. I noticed a presence to my left and angled my body around to see who had worked up the nerve to approach me. I was unprepared for what I saw.

Sitting on the stool next to me was a young woman, twenty-five or there-abouts, with long-ish dark blond hair twisting in strands around one another. She wore a slim fitting pair of black jeans and a loosely fitted heather grey t-shirt with a pleasantly scooped neck. She smelled of opium perfume and apple wine. For a moment I thought I was staring straight into my past, at the model from my bar forty years ago.

She slowly turned her face away from the bar, toward me. She had noticed my staring. "Hello," she spoke politely, if a little reluctantly.

_Now when you work it out I'm worse than you_

_Yeah when you work it out, I want it too_

_Now when you work out where to draw the line_

_Your guess is as good as mine..._

"Your name," I asked, slipping a hint of seduction into the words.

"I'm Brit, I'm a friend of Immy's," she made to reach out her hand and then pulled back, as if suddenly realizing what I was.

"Eric," I said as I reached for her hand, lifting her fingers to brush against my lips. I glanced down the length of the bar, making sure that _Immy_ was occupied for the time being. Then I looked deep into the girls hazel eyes. "What are you doing here all by yourself, so late at night?"

She gave a little gasp and looked confused, as if she hadn't realized that it was late and she was alone. She looked almost ashamed, and it was hard for me not to chuckle. I was actually enjoying myself to some degree. I realized, suddenly, how long it had been since I had set my charms on one so unwitting. Beautiful she may have been, but also naïve. I had to rein myself in a notch or two.

"Why, I could help you home safely, if you'd like. You do look a little tipsy," I whispered to her with a friendly smile. "I wouldn't want you driving like this."

"No," she began swaying slightly in response to my suggestion. "I can't believe I would have driven like this. Thanks for the offer, but I don't know you. Maybe just call me a taxi?" she asked sweetly. Perhaps I had reined myself in too much.

"But Imogene knows me. We go far back," I lifted my hand and waved to Imogene, who gave me a suspicious smirk. She walked over to freshen my blood.

"I suppose Eric has offered you a ride home, my dear?" she asked slyly. Brit nodded. "And I suppose you know he's a Vampire as I am?" Once again Brit nodded. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that you can take care of yourself?" This time the girl stood and leaned across the bar (a difficult task due to her height of near five feet) to whisper something to Imogene. It sounded like, "Don't be a cock blocker, he's cute." It took all my reserve not to burst out in laughter, though my smile did grow a few inches.

Imogene smiled as well as chuckled, and turned to me. "I suppose she deserves you, then, if she wants to go calling me names!" But she said it pleasantly enough. I left her a generous tip and swiftly guided the freshly "inebriated" Brit out into the cool evening.

***

I landed outside the house in the hill country shortly after eight PM the following evening. I was relieved to see the Land Cruiser parked in front of the garage. Most of the house was dark, though there was a flickering light coming through the front doors (one of which had been covered with tape and contractor plastic). I winced as I remembered failing to call a repairman. Dev had had to deal with it by herself. I quietly opened the uninjured door and stepped around a large box, approximately the size of the pain of glass needing replacement. I was pleased to see she had made progress with the Broadview (Light) Security agency. When it came to replacing light tight glass, every emergency was a priority.

I looked across the room and saw a nested pile of blankets and pillows on one end of the couch, though no Devon. I walked quietly up the stairs to my bedroom. She was not upstairs either. My guess was the downstairs bathroom, quickly to be confirmed by the sound of the flushing toilet below me. I walked over to the bed and smelled her fresh scent still there. She had slept in 'our' bed this morning. It eased my tension slightly.

I heard the car in the driveway and the doorbell, and I heard her feet padding quickly across the great room to answer the door. I listened to her chat amiably with the window repairman as he swiftly and efficiently replaced the pane of glass. He assured her that the bill would go to the business and bid her a pleasant evening. By that time it was approaching ten o'clock and I had yet to make it clear that I had returned home. I made sure my phone was on vibrate and began a text message to Devonee.

"_Miss me?"_ I hit send.

"_I was worried. There was glass all over the place. I suppose you are all right?"_ She responded rather quickly.

"_Do not worry about me. Pam tells me you have new 'ink'."_ I smiled at my use of the tattoo vernacular.

"_I ran into my tattoo artist friend last night. He was bored."_

"_I was bored last night as well. Did you miss me?"_ I tried not to dwell on my entertainment of last night.

"_Yes."_

"_Miss me still?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then come upstairs."_

"Fuck!" She exclaimed. I smiled broadly as she came flying up the stairs. She looked ecstatic and upset by turns. "I didn't know when you would come back," she said with a voice thick with emotion. I opened my arms and she fell into them like a child seeking comfort.

"I am sorry," I said, surprised at how easily the words escaped me. "You deserve to know some things." She looked up at me in bewilderment. "That is, unless you have decided you no longer desire it. I would be happy to move on to more… entertaining activities than story telling." I smiled down as innocently as possible, which wasn't saying much.

"No. You said it. Don't go back on it now. I wanna know."

I lifted her in my arms and settled us against the headboard on the bed. There was a bit of shifting around and quite a bit of stroking on my part – her hair, her shoulders. Finally I considered us settled. "Ready?" I asked. She nodded. I began.

I told the lovely creature I held in my arms of the lovely creature who came before her. I told of her telepathy and fairy lineage as best I knew. I told of her connections with Sam and Bill. Of her relationship with Pam. Of our whirlwind, on and off courtship and finally of our bonding. I found it easy in the telling, up to a point.

Suddenly, I began to feel week as one does after a massive loss of blood, or having gone without feeding for several days – weeks, in my case. I saw no reason to mention the final fight or the year of separation. It made no difference.

"Eric?" she asked me, bringing me back to the present.

"And she died. She refused to allow… She was stubborn. So very much like you, dear one." I cleared my throat reflexively, though there was no need of it. "You are her equal, and yet very different, all at once." I smiled down at her.

"You did love her. More than this blood bond thing…" she trailed off, staring into the darkness.

"Oh yes." I could not help sounding emphatic when I said it.

"You love me?"

I began kissing her lightly on her upturned jaw, slowly trailing my mouth down to her neck, as my fingers worked on unbuttoning her jeans. Once I had those pushed slightly down around her hips I moved to shove her sweater up to expose her beautiful flat stomach.

"Eric?" she prompted once more.

"I. Love. Fucking. You," I breathed between kisses. My mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear and she let out a long sigh and moan. And we were lost for the night.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: The last chapter, my lovelies! I hope you all enjoyed it. I'll try not to be gone too long but the wedding is in less than five weeks (!) and I've got a bunch to do. I was going to split this into two chapters, but it didn't flow as well that way. Well, here goes... Media used in this last chapter is as follows: _Nothing Better_ by The Postal Service, the wonderful film, _The Princess Bride_, _The Golden Floor_ by Snow Patrol, _Wake Up _by Arcade Fire, and _What Sarah Said_ by Death Cab For Cutie.

Enjoy!

******

_I love fucking you?_ _Really? That's all I get?_ I lay in bed next to him, quietly letting him stroke the ends of my hair over my breast. Well, what had I expected him to say? Like I told him a long time ago, love doesn't happen like it does in the movies. I knew that. There wasn't some magic spell to cast, or anything like love at first sight. Still, for the tiniest moment of moments, I had thought things might go a little differently for me. When he admitted he'd loved her, I thought there was a chance that he loved me. Now I was beginning to see.

"Lover?"

"Hmm?" I turned my head toward him.

"You have been still all evening. What else do you want me to say?"

I blinked rapidly in confusion. Was he really asking this? "What did you say," I murmured breathlessly.

"I apologized. Is there something more you want? I am not known to do so. Ask Pamela," he said with a hint of disgust.

"No, I'm sorry. I have a killer migraine," I shook my head and tried out a smile, though I'm sure it came across more as a grimace. "I'm just going to go down and make a cup of tea and grab an ice pack for my head." I scooted out of the bed and pulled on Eric's henley before heading down to the kitchen.

I filled the kettle with water, turned and placed it on the stove. I walked across the room to the freezer and pulled out a cold gel pack and held it to the back of my head, then opened the pantry and pulled out the tea and a bag of white cheddar cheese puffs. I leaned back against the counter and munched as I waited on my water to boil. I did all of these things as quietly as possible, as if I listened hard enough, the silent house would let me in on a secret. I tried not to over analyze the situation, thinking of the song lyrics, _'don't you feed me lies about some idealistic future; your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures'_.

As the kettle began to whistle and I poured the steaming water over the tea bag, I had a thought. "Hey, are you hungry? You haven't fed since night before last," I called up to him. Really, I was just offering to heat him a blood before I came up.

"No, I'm not hungry. Don't worry about me," he said rather dismissively. He could have had blood at Pam's. He could have found a willing donor – that was his business. So why did I feel like I'd just been kicked in the stomach?

On my way back up the stairs, I realized that now I was beginning to see, I was just a replacement. A replacement without the blood bond.

***

If you know the correct traits to augment, it's not hard to guide your child to discover and develop their gift (or gifts, as it may be). Several weeks after her first taste of human blood, I began working with Devon every night. There were the usual suspects – telepathy, telekinesis, levitation and flight, extra sensory perception, and so on. Not to mention her already heightened sense of smell (thanks to Sam) and her intuitive abilities.

The tempo of our life picked up considerably as she began showing an interest in her new life. We began a series of "games". I believed that her extra sensory intuition had most likely only been reinforced by her turning, therefore she was likely to have gained other abilities. The games allowed her to determine her stronger talents (and proved entertaining for both of us).

Most vampires show an affinity for mind control. There are those of us who are incapable of it, and it's really quite embarrassing, though these individuals were simply not strong-minded at the time of their transformation. Devon caught on quickly to this and was a natural at glamour. What I hadn't expected was her uncanny ability to communicate telepathically in conjunction with the glamour. Once she realized that she could suggest actions of beliefs to a human without a spoken word, we began toying with the idea that she could communicate telepathically with Pam and myself. Pam was in New York the first time Dev contacted her. It was quite a novelty to hear the alarm in Pam's voice over Dev's speaker phone when she called. "Why the _fuck_ do I hear you in my head? Suggesting, nonetheless, that I strip tease in front of these old republican geriatrics?"

We would pester wait staff with our little pranks. Knocking over glasses on a perfectly level tray as a waitress was on her way to our table, bursting bottles of blood as a bartender was reaching into the cooler for them, turning the faucet on as he or she reached to do the very same action. Telekinesis was a fun one, indeed.

Though, try as she might, Devonee was never able to rise more than three feet off the ground.

I turned off the shower and let the steam rise up around me in a cloud. It had previously smelled of sex and had been replaced by the pleasant scent of rosemary mint bath products. I stepped out of the bathroom and stared at the bed, where I had left Dev minutes before. She lay horizontally, about a foot above the mattress, the sheets were draping over her hip leaving her chest exposed. Her arms and hair hung freely from her frame. She turned on her side to face me, and suddenly, whether her concentration broke or she broke it purposefully, she collapsed in a heap, back to the surface of the bed.

"What do you think her powers would have been?"

"They were never realized, dear one. Why do you care?" I asked nonchalantly as possible. "It doesn't matter. You, on the other hand, are a rarity." I climbed into the bed next to her and pulled her close to me.

***

"_Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."_

I sat on the couch, curled into Eric, using him like an ice pack. It was late August and the air conditioning in the Shreveport house had gone out this morning. We had to wait till tomorrow for another to be installed. The repairmen had charged the unit with Freon in the hopes that it would last the night. So much for hope.

Eric chuckled next to me as we watched Inigo chase after Count Rugan, leaving Westley to stagger next to the giant (I never could understand his name). It was the first time in months that we had had to settle down at home and decompress. I was wearing the grey dress Eric bought for me the night I went to the hospital. It was light and breezy and it made me feel at home. Eric was attired as usual in his jeans and t-shirt combo, wearing a worn out green v-neck that made his hair appear all the more golden. He trailed his fingers absently up and down my forearm, stroking my tattoo.

"_Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."_

"_Stop saying that!"_

I wasn't fooled. Eric could feign interest all he wanted, but I knew _The Princess Bride_ just wasn't doing it for him. I stood up to get myself a fudge-sickle and refresh Eric's blood.

***

For me, it all seemed to click after I tasted Claire. The world opened up to me. I began to feel less and less the attachment to human conventions. I lost my grasp on fear and boredom, and eventually guilt. I found some fun in my night-to-night existence. I understood everything more clearly. For me, there was nothing but work, expanding my abilities, and Eric. It made it easier for me to push Sookie to the back of my mind, knowing that Eric was proud of the Vampire I was becoming. He would never know what she had the potential to be. I knew I should feel bad for thinking of her like that. I'd not known her, and she was a special person to two of the men in my life – but I just couldn't bring myself to care what she meant to them. Still, I wondered if I had become interesting enough to pull Eric away from the memory of her.

When Eric convinced himself that I was stable once more, we began touring our little triangle of cities. We'd go from Austin to Houston to Shreveport every few days. Eric wanted to take on a more personal role in maintaining the bars he owned, and buy in to a couple we had worked on in the past. I had never seen him quite as in his element as he was at Fangtasia. He was like a kid in a candy store – a dark, scary, brooding kid. And I began to realize what the Master/child relationship really meant. No wonder Pam would move heaven and earth to make Eric happy. It was like a vicarious high. I wasn't sure whether I felt this way because of my newfound telepathy and intuition, or if this was how all children felt when their makers were content. I honestly didn't care, as long as I continued to ride this high.

It was second only to having the warm human blood coursing down my throat, still feeling the pulse reverberating through the liquid as it left its body of origin and gave nourishment to mine.

God, I was starting to think like a vampire. I got the sense that that should bother me, but it didn't. Tonight I felt invincible. _The Golden Floor_ was playing over KDED currently. I loved that song. Indira was tending bar tonight and Felicia was in the office (long since being Eric's office) doing the books. I leaned forward over the bar and sipped my A positive, as I watched Eric at his table across the room.

We'd had an argument about wardrobe before we left for the club. He wore his usual jeans and t-shirt combo, and I'd never had a complaint about that. However, he wanted me to wear some kind of latex bustier, or a black lace dress. Ultra goth. I am, and always have been, always will be nouveau-bohemian. I got the sense that the argument was really just an exercise to keep me believing he wanted to maintain complete control of me. At the same time, I knew with a certainty that no such argument would be tolerated in public.

He glanced over at me, and though I wasn't wearing anything tight or black, he seemed to appreciate my wardrobe choice this evening. I was wearing nicely fitted dark grey jeans with a couple of artful rips here and there, and a dark cranberry cardigan, cropped just above the waist, buttoned to show just enough cleavage, and nothing underneath. I could feel the pride brimming as he raised his blood and I could suddenly hear him thinking to me, _Less is more._ I smiled back to him.

***

I woke up alone, as I always did in my Shreveport residence. As I began to move about the room and wait for the full dark to overtake the dusk I heard her soft weeping. There was nothing that could be done. I shook my head and reached for my phone, resigned to the fact that I could not leave the bedroom far at least fifteen minutes still. I considered sending a text message, but decided against it.

I was fairly certain I knew the cause of her distress. By now I was used to it, though it had grown increasingly worse as the time progressed toward the second anniversary. I could tell she was bleeding, but this didn't alarm me. Though I didn't like it, it was something else we did not discuss. It was one of her methods of coping. She had tiny, lace-like scars running down her inner thigh, now. I healed them as often as she would let me, though without a proper blood transfer, the scars remained, barely visible to the naked eye.

Finally, I pulled on a yellowing Zone t-shirt and my jeans from yesterday and walked through the bedroom doors and out into the living area. Devon was sitting on the floor in front of the cold fireplace, with a bundle of cloth in her hands. I recognized the t-shirt and boxers, hardened now by the blood. I stood in the doorway, looking at her sitting there, helpless, much the same as she had been the night I met her. Soon I found, as piteous as she appeared, I could not bring myself to pity her. She was stronger than this, she was more capable.

I felt a twinge of anger in my gut. She turned around to look at me. She expected me to cross the room and take her in my arms and make her forget. But it was a game she was playing. She would never forget, she could only push the memory further from the surface, yet she still grasped too tightly to the remnants of that severed reality. She didn't want to move on, because moving on was more difficult than letting her grief pull her under. I knew this all too well.

I stood, still and silent, in the doorway, watching her watching me. And I saw it across her face when she realized that I was done. It was never my loss to mourn and I could not help her unless she was willing to help herself. She had exhausted my capacity for empathy, amazing though it was that I had any at all.

Her tears began to dry on her cheeks, and her breathing became more even, as she sat there, clutching the bloody clothes, staring at me. Without a word, I turned and walked out of the room.

***

I followed him into the kitchen where he grabbed a blood from the fridge and began drinking it cold. For some reason I felt guilty. I could read that he was annoyed, and I'm sure he was getting tired of my erratic behavior, but what should I feel guilty about? Still it wasn't worth arguing over. I decided to take the high road.

So, can we head to the store? I'm out of ice cream, and I could really use some dutch chocolate right now," I really was craving Bluebell. I also thought that getting out of the house and doing some ordinary, couple-type thing, like going on an ice cream run, might get both of our minds onto better thoughts. "You need some more blood anyway."

He raised his eyebrow in that way that makes every woman in the room melt (luckily I was the only one in the room at the moment). He took another gulp of his blood, reached in his pocket, fished out his keys and tossed them to me. My eyes grew wide. He'd been teaching me how to drive his car and I was still balls nervous every time I climbed in the driver's seat, knowing there was no computer to make sure I made it to my destination safely. I started to open my mouth to protest, but he gave me that look. The one that said, '_think twice before messing with me_'. Yes, Sir.

He walked past me on his way to the door, then as an afterthought, he turned around and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me to him from behind. He held me for a moment, then steered me toward the door. I felt a smile start to spread across my face. Just a little one, but I knew it was there.

Self consciously, I started the car and began backing out of the parking space and heading down the long driveway.

"You know you cannot continue this way."

"What?" I was totally focused on driving and didn't realize at first what Eric was talking about.

"Mourning is healthy to a degree, but you cannot become buried in it. You are stronger than this. It is not in your character…"

"Wait. Stop. Are you telling me how long it's _suitable_ for me to grieve?" I couldn't really wrap my mind around that concept. Hadn't Eric been grieving for nearly half a century? "I can't believe you! You have no right! I… I… Fuck!"

That was all I could express. What I was feeling… now I was sure he wasn't capable of feeling it. That overwhelming sense of being completely alone was closing in like water rising over my head and I just couldn't break the surface. Fuck! I could feel the tears running freely now. I wasn't even making a sound, taking a breath.

"That's not what I'm saying, Devonee. Slow down. I'm telling you that you are letting your pain evolve into something that… something that is no longer useful to you. It will only do you harm."

"Fuck you," I whispered quietly.

I closed my eyes for just one second. If that. Then I saw something ahead of me in the road. It only lasted a few seconds, I'm sure, but it felt like a million years before I knew what I was looking at. Pine tree, huge, blocking both lanes and several feet on either side of the road. Eric saw it at the same moment I did, but his reaction time was faster. He jerked the wheel hard to the right, trying to fishtail us, so the rear of the car took the brunt of the impact. Unfortunately, I chose that moment to slam on the brakes.

My body shut down all of my voluntary reactions. My eyes snapped shut of their own accord and I was soaring through the air for a thousand years. I heard the screams of creatures in pain and smelled the sulfurous sting in the air. I was knocking at the threshold of hell. The noise escalated to a volume that drowned out all of reality. My eyes were still closed when I realized I wasn't moving anymore. I was deaf to the world as my senses began to slowly return to me. I could almost still hear the song that had been playing in the car – _Wake Up_. I felt moisture on my face and I wasn't sure if it was blood or tears.

I opened my eyes and I saw glass everywhere. There was huge black boulder about three feet away and it was smoking. A small, calm voice in the distance told me the boulder had once been Eric's Astin Martin. All I could do was blink. And pray. I prayed that Eric wasn't still in the car, and that, if so, the car wasn't about to ignite.

I began taking inventory in an eerily calm way. Car – gone. Eric…? Me? I tried to sit up, and though I was sure I could have lifter the entire wreck with the strength I exerted, I couldn't sit. I got the vague impression that my limbs were thrashing. I turned my head slightly and glanced down to see my arms and legs waving weakly back and forth, trying of their own will to gain some kind of purchase. I suddenly realized that during the accident, I had grown a fifth limb. It was protruding from my ribs on the right side of my body. It was in fact a tree limb, sticking out of my side, funneling my blood out of my body, to soak into the dirt beneath me. Fuck.

I scanned the area with my eyes once more. By now I could hear the wind in the trees, the crickets and cicadas musically warring with one another in the woods. But no cars. No ambulances. Just nature in all of her beauty.

I laid my head back and closed my eyes. I was just so tired. After a few minutes I would get up and go get Eric from wherever he was. I just had to rest. That same small, calm voice told me to open my eyes. It was just so hard. Someone had sewn them shut while I slept. I would never open my eyes again. They would grow closed and I would live to be blind. I realized how ridiculous this was and I began to fight with all of my will against whatever held my eyelids closed.

It hurt to see the beauty that they opened upon. The moon was full in the sky above me. The stars were pinpricks in an indigo field. Then I heard something off to my right. Some strange language in frantic tones, then my name.

"Devonee! Dev?" Why did he sound so scared. He was the big, bad wolf, right? Or was that Grandpa? I was confused about whether I should still be angry with him right now. He leaned over me and I saw that the left side of his head was completely covered in his own blood. It dripped from his hair onto my cheek. He needed to feed, and I needed to rest. This was good. This was how it should be. He leaned down and prepared to bite.

"I get to meet her now," I managed to cough out, along with a good bit of blood. I looked back up at the moon, and as it began to morph into a million brightly shining suns, I realized that I would be meeting my grandmother, mother, daughter, and maybe even the girl whose place I had taken. I wouldn't be alone anymore.

***

She was magnificent, a splendid specimen of our species. I watched her hovering above the surface of the bed. She was beginning to falter and I knew she would be asleep for the day in seconds. It was a moment of peace for me. I had my family in Devonee and Pamela. I had companionship I hadn't known in many decades. I could look at Devonee and see only her. I could never forget what had transpired four decades ago, a blood bond is not a common occurrence, and therefore indelible in one's memory. Yet I was content to experience a small loss again when I thought of Sookie. It affirmed the reality of what I held within my grasp.

I would have liked to go to my window in Austin to watch the sun creeping over the horizon, but I did not have that luxury in Shreveport. I still had twenty minutes till sunrise and I was compelled to stand out in the crisp morning air. Once again, as I stepped outside, I was sure this was where I belonged.

The sky began to color itself teal as the dawn began her ascent. I looked across my lawn in the direction the sun would rise, and a woman was standing about twenty feet from me. Gold hair swirled around her body down to her waist. Her eyes were a piercing blue that was visible even from this distance in the half-light of morning. She wore a long grey cotton dress that whipped around her in a phantom breeze. My senses should have been on high alert, but I stood there, dazed and staring at this creature before me.

In an instant she was no longer across the lawn but standing within arms reach. I knew I was not dreaming, because vampires don't dream. Sookie stood before me.

Like a mute idiot, I reached my hand out to touch her. She was there. And more beautiful than any creature on this earth had a right to be.

"Eric," she breathed her sweet breath, flavoring the air between us. I would never forget that taste. "She is the answer."

Like a robot, programmed to respond, I asked, "What is the question?"

She smiled impishly. "These are your dead promises. That love is possible. That I will die. That _pain_ exists for everyone. That the possibilities are endless. Who's to say things will happen exactly the same way twice. Believe that I loved you. Don't you?"

"Are you real?" I asked dumbly, too stunned to accept the weight of what she was telling me.

"No. I'm part of you. And I'm dead. And you will see me when you wake up tomorrow night. I promise. What happens next is up to you."

As quickly as she had appeared she was gone and the Sun was rising above the tree line. I would burn and Devon would never know, but perhaps I would see Sookie again. The light continued to brighten and I waited to burn, until, once again I saw blackness.

***

I woke alone, as I always did in my Shreveport residence. It was full dark outside, I could feel that. I had a sense that something was disjointed. I heard the toilet in my bathroom flush. I smiled widely and stretched out for her benefit as Sookie emerged from the bathroom wearing one of my old t-shirts and her baggy grey pajama pants. She stuck her tongue out at me as she climbed back into the bed. "Is that a, what do those relationship counselors call it? Ah, a non-verbal cue. Would you like to put your tongue to use?"

"Eric Northman, my Gran would be rollin' over in her grave if she new you were sayin' those things to me." She snuggled down into my chest and breathed deeply. Suddenly she was doubled over coughing.

"Lover? Are you well?"

"Yeah, I'm just great, Eric. I'll be fine once I cough up this lung, I've heard ya only need one."

"You are being facetious and impertinent. Tell me what is wrong." I wasn't sure why, but I needed to know.

"I don't know yet, Eric. I've been to the doctor once already this week. They called me back in a couple of days."

"You will reschedule for a later appointment. I will go with you." She was prepared to pout and argue but I gave her a look that advised otherwise. This was not up for discussion.

"Ok. No sense in arguing, you'll just find a way to make it happen no matter what I say."

Two days later I walked out into the living room where Sookie sat, waiting for me. She reached for the remote to turn off the television, but I swatted her hand away. A girl was running around in a man's dress shirt, writing words on the mirror, the walls, and finally cutting them into her body with a razor blade. I turned the volume up.

"That's that Death Cab song, _What Sarah Said_," Sookie informed me. "I've always wondered what she was writing. I think it's in French."

"Yes, it says, 'he loves me a little, a lot, passionately, madly, not at all.'"

"Huh," she sighed. "That's sad." And with that, we headed to her doctors appointment. I could still hear the words of the song as we pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.

_Love Is Watching Someone Die_


	18. End Note

For those who enjoyed **DP**, I've started a companion of sorts called **I Know You're Dead, But What Am I?** Please take a look and let me know what you think.

Be Well,

Yve


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